The Spray of Plum-Blossom

Although it was early days to begin thinking about the little Akashi Princess’s Initiation, Genji seemed bent upon celebrating it immediately. The Heir Apparent’s Putting on of the Trousers was to take place in the second month, and it was perhaps Genji’s wish that the girl should go to the Palace as soon as the little prince set up a separate establishment. Towards the end of the first month, a moment when there is very little going on at home or abroad, Genji held an inspection of the perfumes and incenses that were to be used at the Initiation. He first looked through the scents that had recently been forwarded to the Capital by the Governor of Tsukushi. He soon came to the conclusion that these modern importations fell far behind what used to reach this country in former times, and opening his storehouses at the Nijo-in he brought out all the old Chinese perfumes he could find and had them carried to his New Palace. “With perfumes,” he said, “it is just as it is with embroideries and woven brocades: The old ones are far better workmanship than anything that is turned out today.” So saying, he began to look out for likely pieces of embroidery and gold brocade; for many would be wanted to fringe the box-covers, carpets, and cushions used in the ceremony of Presentation at the Palace. Luckily he came upon some particularly fine pieces presented to his father, the late Emperor, by the Korean soothsayers who had come to Court in the earlier part of his reign.* These so far excelled what was now imported that he determined to make use only of ancient pieces, and distributed among his friends^† the stuffs sent in for the occasion by the Governor of Tsukushi. But with the perfumes to be used at the Initiation such a method was impossible, for the stock of ancient perfumes would soon have run out. In distributing a supply of perfumes to the various members of his household, he therefore ordered that new and old should be mixed. Then there were the presents to be got ready, for no one who came to the Initiation could be allowed to go away without some small gift; and in addition to these there were the particular rewards granted to the princes and noblemen who took the leading part in the affair. Both at the New Palace and at the Nijo-in there was such a bustle as seldom before accompanied, in every quarter of each establishment by a continual jingling of pestle and mortar.* Meanwhile Genji, who by some means or other had contrived to get hold of two secret recipes very jealously guarded by the Emperor Nimmyo,^† and thought never to have been transmitted to any of his descendants, was locked away in his own rooms, completely absorbed in certain mysterious experiments. Murasaki, not to be outdone, succeeded in discovering a recipe that had belonged to Prince Motoyasu, the son of Nimmyo, and ensconcing herself in a secret closet behind the double-doors of the Great Bedroom, refused to give any information as to what was afoot, though, as Genji remarked, he would soon know how she was getting on by the scent that emanated from her hiding-place. Indeed they both threw themselves into the thing with such abandon that it was hard to believe they were to play the part of dignified elders at the coming ceremony. Both he and she were obliged to seek the assistance of a few chosen attendants; for even when the perfumes were made there was still a great deal of work to be done. Such exquisite scents could not be crammed into any stray vessel that lay handy. Hours were spent in selecting jars of appropriate shape, incense-burners incised with an exactly suitable flower-pattern, boxes that would not disgrace the marvels they were to contain. And to add to their difficulties, there must be a touch of novelty, a suggestion of surprise, about every article. Meanwhile similar scenes were in progress throughout the New Palace and the Nijo-in, each competitor straining every nerve to produce a blend which should attract the notice of her fastidious patron.

On the tenth day of the second month there was a little rain, not more than was needed to bring to perfection the smell and color of the red plum-blossom in front of Genji’s palace. Prince Sochi had heard of the existing preparations which were afoot, and being on intimate terms with the household, ventured to call, though he knew that everyone must be very busy. After talking of one thing and another, he went out with Genji to look at the flowers; suddenly a messenger arrived, bearing a letter tied to a spray of half-scattered plum-blossom. He announced that he came from Princess Asagao, the former Vestal Virgin. Sochi had heard of Genji’s admiration for this lady: “What does she say?” he asked. “I hope you are beginning to make a little progress.” Genji smiled. “It is a business letter,” he said. “She has heard that we are all making perfumes, and as she has had a good deal of experience in that line, she gives me a few hints.” So saying, he quickly hid the letter. But there was evidently some truth in his account, for the messenger had also brought a cedar-wood box containing two glass bowls, each filled with large balls of incense. One was of blue glass, and on this there was a five-pointed pine-leaf pattern; the other was of white glass, carved with a plum-blossom spray. Even the cord with which the box was tied had evidently been chosen with the greatest care, and was delightfully soft to the touch. “What an elegant affair!” exclaimed Prince Sochi, staring hard at the box. He was able as he did so to decipher the poem which was attached to it: “Though, like the plum-branch that I send, these perfumes have small fragrance of their own, yet worn by you they will not lack for regal scent...” The entertainment of the messenger was entrusted to Yugiri, who plied him with drink, and as payment for his trouble gave him a close-fitting Chinese lady’s gown, red plum-blossom color without, yellow within. For his reply Genji chose paper of the same color as the blossom she had sent, and attached the letter to a spray from the aforementioned trees in front of his own window. “I can imagine what sort of thing he is writing,” thought Sochi as he watched Genji compose the answer. “But I really wonder that, after all the confidences we have exchanged, he should think it necessary to be so secretive,” and he wondered whether there were not some additional mystery beyond what he could possibly surmise. “I can see you think you have scented a mystery,” said Genji. “You are quite wrong; there is no corner of my heart which I am not willing you should explore.” Genji’s poem ran: “Only too profoundly does the scent of your blossoms stir me, though lest the world should see my weakness I have hidden their fragrance deep within the folds of my dress.”

“You will think,” he said, turning to Prince Sochi, “that we are making a great deal too much fuss over the coming celebration. For my part I excuse myself on the ground that she is my only daughter. I am under no delusions about her looks or intelligence, and did not like to trouble any outside person to come and stand sponsor for her at the ceremony. The Empress Akikonomu, who is staying here on leave from the Palace, has kindly consented to undertake the task, and it is in deference to her position that I am doing everything in proper style.” “I am so glad you got hold of the Empress,” said Prince Sochi; “I think it is a very good idea; for we all hope that your little girl will one day occupy the position that Akikonomu holds now.” At this moment messengers arrived from all the various quarters of the establishment where the blending of perfumes had been in progress, for Genji had decided that the last time to make trial of them was when the evening air began to grow damp. “You must help me to judge these perfumes,” said Genji to his brother. “I am sure there is no one who knows more about it than you.” The incense-burners were brought, and though Prince Sochi protested that this was not at all in his line, he was soon amazing everyone present by the incredible delicacy of his perceptions. He would say of some perfume the ingredients of which were quite unknown to him: “There is a fraction too much cloves in this,” or of another: “Just a trifle too little aloes.” He never made any sweeping criticism, but established a sufficient number of small points to allow of arranging the competitors, all of whom would to any common critic have seemed equally unimpeachable, in a definite and justified order of precedence.

When this was over, Genji’s two secret blends were at last submitted to the light of day. Just as the Emperor Nimmyo had on a famous occasion buried his incense at the edge of the moat near the barracks of the Bodyguard of the Right, so Genji had now buried his two secret compounds under the bank of a little stream that ran out near the western cross-gallery of his palace. Koremitsu’s son Hyoye no Jo was now sent to dig them up, and they were finally laid before Prince Sochi by Yugiri. “No, no,” said Sochi. “The room is getting too smoky. In such an atmosphere it is quite impossible to go on judging...” But nothing could be done, for in every quarter of the house the manufacture of incense had been proceeding so busily that the air was laden with perfume. The Prince went on sniffing bravely, and the subtlety with which, even under such adverse circumstances, he detected small merits and defects, won universal applause. Though there was very little to choose between the different kurobo submitted, on the whole Princess Asagao’s was declared to be the best, for it combined the strong fragrance usual to this species with a delightful delicacy and mildness. Among the various jiju incenses, Genji’s easily came out on top, for it was indeed an extraordinarily delightful and intriguing mixture. Murasaki had submitted three kinds. It was agreed that her baikwa was a more distinctive and ingenious blend than the other two; Prince Sochi was full of enthusiasm for it, saying he could imagine no incense that would mix so well with the prevailing scent of the air at this season.

The Lady from the Village of Falling Flowers, thinking that if she allowed the gentlewomen under her control to send in a variety of perfumes the task of the judges would be tiresomely complicated and lengthy (for even in such a matter as this she did not fail to show her usual modesty), sent in only one kind of incense, the sort called Lotus Leaf, but of a very delicate and subtle variety, which seemed to Genji characteristic of her unassuming personality. The Lady from Akashi, who presided over the Winter Garden, and might have been expected to offer an incense appropriate to her own season, was not inclined to risk so direct a challenge to the mistresses of Summer and Spring. Fortunately she remembered a recipe that had been invented by Minamoto no Kintada* with the help of notes inherited from the Emperor Uda.* This by itself would, have sufficed to win considerable approbation; but she also succeeded in recollecting the ingredients of the famous Hundred Steps Incense,^† and Sochi was obliged to pronounce each of those contributions deserving of the highest honors. “Our judge is losing his subtlety,” complained Genji, “and is obliged to fall back upon praising everything indiscriminately.”

The moon had now risen. Supper was served, and afterwards stories were told by various members of the party. A slight mist veiled the moon with the most entrancing effect. The rain of the morning had left a slight breeze in its trail, that continually wafted into the already thickly perfumed rooms of the house fresh perfumes from the trees in the garden. From the Music Room came sounds of flute and string, for a practice was in progress, music being destined to play an important part in the ceremonies of the ensuing day. Many courtiers had arrived, and there was a noise of zitherns being got into tune, and an agreeable meandering of flutes. To no Chujo’s sons Kashiwagi and Kobai had come merely to make the formal announcement of their intention to take part in tomorrow’s proceedings. But they were now prevailed upon to stay and join in the music, Genji himself providing the instruments. At the same time he set a lute in front of Prince Sochi, and himself sent for his great Chinese zithern. Kashiwagi played upon the wagon,^‡ and so a quite interesting combination was possible. Yugiri then played upon the cross-flute, choosing airs appropriate to the season; away went the shrill notes on their journey to the country of the clouds. It will be remembered that Kashiwagi’s brother Kobai was famous for his voice. It was he who as a boy sang the Ballad of Takasago at the time of the rhyme-covering competitions. He now sang Umegaye: “Look, to a bough of the plum-tree the nightingale has come to tell us that Spring is here. But though he sings, but though he sings, the snow is falling fast.” Genji and his brother joined in the refrain, and though more practice would have been required to make the thing a complete success, it afforded a very agreeable evening’s entertainment. When the wine was handed round Prince Sochi recited the verse: “To an ecstasy the ‘song of the nightingale’ has carried us, who by the beauty of the snow-white boughs already were enthralled.” To which Genji replied: “Prince, if this springtime no other beacon guide you to my house, let these frail flowers suffice to bring you back before their time is passed.” So saying he handed the cup to Kashiwagi, who addressing Yugiri recited the verse: “Play shrilly once again the flute-songs of the night, lest on his bed of flowers the weary nightingale should fall asleep.” And Yugiri: “Ask me not to shake with the shrill blast of piping those flowers that even the wild Spring wind had not the heart to stir.” At this whimsical excuse everyone laughed. When it came to Kobai’s turn, he sang: “Did not the mists of Spring enfold both earth and sky, the birds that sleep so sound had long ago burst out into their clamorous daybreak song.” And true enough, the first streaks of light were already appearing in the eastern sky. Sochi announced that he must go at once. As a reward for his services in judging at the competition Genji gave him a cloak from his own wardrobe and two jars of incense which had been left unopened during the trials. These were put in his carriage, and finding them there, Sochi improvised the poem: “Incense and fine clothes! What gifts are these for an honest man to carry home at dawn?” “You must not be so frightened of your family,” laughed Genji, waiting beside the carriage while the bulls were being yoked; and he answered Sochi with the poem: “Well can I believe it, dear friend, that your family will rub their eyes at seeing you come home with so decent a coat upon your back.” Sochi, who thought himself a very well dressed man, did not take this in very good part. The other guests also received small presents in memory of the occasion—a gown, a brocaded under-robe, or the like.

The ceremony of Initiation took place in Akikonomu’s rooms in the evening of the next day. The company arrived at the hour of the Dog.* The Empress herself was in the small side-room behind the double-doors at the western end of the corridor, and here she was soon joined by the gentlewomen entrusted with the dressing of the Initiate’s hair. For this room had been set apart as her dressing-place. Murasaki was also there, and as both ladies were attended by a full complement of gentlewomenin-waiting, there was not much room to spare. The little Princess herself did not arrive till the hour of the Rat,^† when the actual Tying of the Belt took place. The room was lit only by the flickering rays of the great lamp in the corridor outside; but, from what she could see of the child, Akikonomu (who happened not to have come across her before) made her out to be very good-looking. Genji, however, whispered many apologies for her. “I knew you would help me,” he said. “But of course the child is nothing out of the ordinary, and it seems a shame to give you all this trouble. You are doing what I suppose no Empress has ever done before...” “I thought nothing of coming, and indeed imagined it would be a mere family affair. If it is on my account that you have done things on this grand style, I assure you it is not you who ought to feel embarrassed.” She looked so charming and still so young as she made this polite speech that Genji congratulated himself upon an occasion which, if it possessed no other importance, had at least the merit of bringing together in one room so many delightful women.

He would very much have liked the child’s mother to take part in the ceremony, for he knew that it would pain her deeply not to be invited; but as the girl had been formally adopted by Murasaki, it was hard to see in what capacity the Lady from Akashi could be summoned, and very reluctantly he abandoned the idea.

For To no Chujo it was extremely galling to hear the accounts of all these preparations and festivities. His own daughter Lady Kumoi was now at the height of her beauty, and to see her wasting her youth and charm in the dull seclusion of the home, while the Akashi girl’s success was being bruited on every side, was naturally very hard for him to bear. Yugiri’s attachment to her seemed neither to have ripened nor, on the other hand, declined. To do anything that savored of a wish to negotiate with him might now only lead to a humiliating rebuff—a risk that had not existed in the days when Yugiri’s passion was still open and declared. He felt that he had let things drift too far, and was indeed in these days more angry with himself than with Yugiri.

The young man heard that his uncle no longer spoke of him with any asperity; but the harshness of years was not so easy to forget, and Yugiri could not bring himself to plead for the termination of a quarrel which had been entirely of Chujo’s making. He therefore continued to behave exactly as before. Not but what his fidelity suffered at one time and another from considerable strains and stresses. Naturally it did; but he could never forget the day upon which her nurses had taunted him with his light-blue dress, and he was determined that until he could come forward as a full-blown Counselor he would make no further advances.

Genji disapproved extremely of the boy’s solitary and unsettled mode of existence. Some time ago he had received a hint from the Minister of the Right that a proposition from Yugiri would not be unwelcome; and now a similar intimation had come from a certain Prince Nakatsukasa... Surely the boy would not allow a childish attachment to stand in the way of such solid alliances as these? He told Yugiri of the two offers. “One or the other you must certainly accept,” he said. “Try to make up your mind as quickly as you can.” Yugiri did not answer, but merely waited respectfully for his father to continue. “I know that, in a way, it is rather absurd for me to advise you about things of this kind,” Genji said after a pause. “I remember how tiresome I used to find my father the old Emperor’s lectures on these and similar subjects. But I assure you that, irritating as it was at the time, his advice generally turned out to be perfectly sound, and I wish I had more often followed it... But what I wanted to say to you now was this: your present unsettled way of living is doing your reputation a great deal of harm. Naturally everyone assumes that a previous attachment of some kind is holding you back, and the impression most people are likely to get is that you have got tied up with someone so lowborn or discreditable that you cannot possibly introduce her into your family. I know that this idea is the opposite of the truth; indeed no one could possibly accuse you of aiming too low. But it is now perfectly clear that you cannot get what you want... Under such circumstances the only thing to do is to take what one can get, and make the best of it...

“I myself had just the same sort of trouble at your age. But things were even worse; for in the Palace one is hedged round by all kinds of rules and restrictions. All eyes were upon me, and I knew that the slightest indication on my part would be eagerly seized upon and exploited by those who stood to gain by my undoing. In consequence of this I was always extremely careful... Yes. In spite of all my precautions I did once get into trouble, and it even looked at one time as though I had ruined myself for good and all. I was still low in rank then and had not particularly distinguished myself in any way. I felt that I was free to do as I chose, and that if things went wrong I had not much to lose. As a matter of fact it is just at such a moment in life that one makes the most far-reaching and irreparable mistakes; for it is then that passion is at its strongest, while the checks and restraints, that in middle age inevitably protect us against the wilder forms of folly, have not yet come into play. To suggest that you need advice on this subject is in no way derogatory to your intelligence; for in their relations with women people who show the utmost good sense in other matters seem constantly to get into the most inextricable mess. One of the difficulties is that we tend to be attracted precisely by those people with whom it is most impossible that we should be permanently connected. I can think of a case in which the lady’s reputation was fatally injured and the man’s happiness destroyed, not only in this world but probably in the next, by the fierce resentment which she bore against him in consequence of this youthful indiscretion.

“And one thing more: suppose you get married and find that the match is not altogether a success. There will be moments at which you will be tempted to throw the whole thing over. But do not act rashly. Think out the situation afresh each time that it appears to you insupportable. Probably you will find that there is a very good reason for hanging on a little longer. Even if you have lost all affection for the lady herself, you may perhaps feel that for the sake of her parents you ought to make one more effort... Or even if she has no parents or other supporters to whom you are under an obligation, you will very likely find on reflection that she has some small trick of speech or manner that still attracts you. It will in the end possibly be best both for you and for her if you can keep things going even in the most precarious way.”

So at moments of leisure used Genji to admonish the young man, never with any note of asperity in his tone. Nor did he once go beyond the vaguest general reflections and reminiscences.

The suggestion that at his father’s advice he should at once transfer his affections to some quarter where they would be more acceptable struck Yugiri as the most gratuitous piece of folly imaginable. Let them compel him if they chose, but at least refrain from insulting his love by veiling such senseless propositions under the cloak of kindness.

Meanwhile Kumoi noticed that her father, who for a long time past had eyed her with a strangely sorrowful look, now gazed at her more mournfully than ever. She felt that through her own fault something had gone wrong with her life, and ceased soon to hope for any kind of happiness; but outwardly she showed no signs of this despair and seemed content to let her youth slip by unmarked. Yugiri’s letters, written at moments when a sudden access of longing compelled him to seek an outlet for his emotion, were as passionate as at the first day of their separation. But did they represent his true feelings? Sometimes she came near to doubting it, and had she possessed other lovers who gave more tangible proof of their devotion, it would have been easy for her to assume that Yugiri’s outpourings were utterly insincere. But an inexperienced girl cannot afford to doubt—that privilege is reserved for those with whom love has become a familiar distraction. His letters were her only interest, and she read them again and again. It soon reached To no Chujo’s ears that Prince Nakatsukasa had offered his daughter, and that the suggestion had not been ill received by Genji. He drew Kumoi aside and spoke of this, with evident agitation. “I am afraid this means that the young man has given way,” he said. “No doubt Genji is offended at my not having accepted Yugiri at the start, and is anxious to show that it is now too late for me to change my mind. For your sake I should be willing to humble myself before him to any extent; but I am afraid we should only be making ourselves ridiculous.” There were tears in his eyes while he spoke. Embarrassed, for she had never seen him weep before, Kumoi turned away her head, thus managing also to conceal her own tears, which by now were beginning gently to fall. What should he do? It was unendurable to watch her misery. And determined to make a last desperate appeal to Genji, he fled abruptly from the room. At the sound of his departure she turned her head, and coming to the window stood gazing after him. What would her lover think, what would he do, could he but have seen her father’s strangely belated tears? It was not thus, she felt sure, that Yugiri pictured the tyrant who stood between them. Just at this moment a messenger arrived. A letter from Yugiri! Her first thought was that it would announce his engagement to this daughter of Prince Nakatsukasa, and for a while she had not the heart to open it. But when at last she did so she found that it was couched in terms as passionate as ever before. His poem ran: “Now faithlessness, that once was held a crime, rules all the world, and he a half-wit is accounted whose heart is steadfast for an hour.” There was not in the letter a hint of any intention such as her father had referred to, but the more she thought about it the more convinced she became that the rumor could not be without foundation. “It seems that you, who preach so much of steadfast faith, yourself will soon be following the world’s new treacherous way.” He had no notion what this could mean, and puzzled over it fruitlessly for many an hour.

Footnotes

* At the time of Genji’s birth. See Part I, p. 17.

† Instead of using them for the ceremony.

* The ingredients of the perfumes were pounded in metal mortars.

† 9th century.

* Grandson of the Emperor Uda. A famous poet and aesthete.

* A.D. 889-897.

† So called because it could be smelt a hundred feet away.

‡ Japanese zithern.

* 7 P.M.

† 11 P.M.