“Bamboo River”

What here follows was told me by some of the still surviving gentlewomen of Tamakatsura’s household. I myself was inclined to regard much of it as mere gossip, particularly where it concerned Genji’s descendants, with whom they can have had very little contact. My informants however were indignant at the idea that Genji’s or Murasaki’s women must necessarily know better than they. “If anyone gets things wrong,” they said, “it is far more likely to be Genji’s people, who are all so old that their memories are beginning to fail.”

For my part I have made no effort to decide the question, but simply put things down as I was told.*

Tamakatsura^† and Higekuro had three sons and two daughters, for each of whose careers their father had made elaborate plans. But while he was still impatiently counting the months and days that must elapse before his schemes could be fulfilled, death suddenly carried him off, and the dream of his life, which was that one at least of his daughters should be accepted at the Palace, had now no prospect of being fulfilled. So time-serving a creature is man that no one could hold a public position^‡ such as Higekuro’s without accumulating a vast quantity of gifts and lands. Thus in one way his family cannot be said to have been left badly off. But the magnificence of their home and possessions only served to accentuate their loneliness and isolation. True, Tamakatsura was related through her father to some of the best families in the land. Unfortunately however it is precisely such families that take least trouble about their relations. Moreover Higekuro’s peculiarities—his unreliable temper and curious lack of sensibility—had prevented him from making any close friends. Genji had of course continued to treat her exactly as before, and in his written testament her name figured next to that of the Akashi Princess as a residuary heir. Moreover Yugiri, in obedience to his father’s wishes, occasionally visited her.

Her boys were growing up. But though the death of their father very much injured their prospects, Tamakatsura felt little doubt that they would make their own way. The future of the daughters presented a far more disturbing problem. During his lifetime Higekuro had informed the Emperor of his great desire to see one of his girls at the Palace. They were at that time mere children; but the Emperor had not forgotten Higekuro’s request, and as soon as sufficient time had elapsed to allow of the girls having reached a suitable age, he reminded Tamakatsura of her husband’s promise. He repeated this invitation several times. But Tamakatsura avoided any definite reply. It was clear that the Empress* was for the present occupying the Emperor’s whole attention, and Tamakatsura could not reconcile herself to the idea of seeing a daughter of hers relegated to an inferior position among a host of superfluous nonentities. The ex-Emperor Ryozen also wrote in an encouraging way, reminding her of the disappointment she had caused him in old days. “I am getting old,” he said, “and have in my own person nothing to offer that a young girl could possibly find attractive. She would have to regard me in the light of a friend and father, ready to shoulder for her all the burdens and anxieties of existence.”

Her own marriage had turned out very badly, and she was certain that Ryozen must at the time have thought her mad to make so extraordinary a choice. To give him one of her children seemed a way of admitting her mistake and (so far as at this late day such a thing could be) making amends for the injury she had done to his pride.

The two girls were said to be very good-looking, and a great many young men were already anxious for their favors. Kurodo no Shosho, one of Yugiri’s sons by Kumoi, was continually sending poems. He was the favorite among all the sons, and had been brought up with immense care.

In more than one way^† the two houses were connected by close ties, and it was natural that Tamakatsura should allow Yugiri’s sons to run in and out of her house as they pleased. But Tamakatsura’s women began to complain that Kurodo was becoming a nuisance. Day and night he pestered them with messages to Himegimi, the elder girl, till they were tired of the sight of him. Tamakatsura herself thought that things were going too far, and she was not best pleased that both the boy’s mother and Yugiri were continually pressing Kurodo’s claims upon her. “He has still to make his way in the world,” Yugiri said. “But we should both be very grateful if you would consider the matter.” But she was determined the elder girl at any rate should not be the wife of a commoner. The second girl perhaps—if and when Kurodo reached a position of rather more stability and importance.

But little as she liked the prospect of Kurodo as a husband for her elder daughter, it would be a far worse calamity if he were allowed to force himself upon her as a clandestine lover, and Tamakatsura kept on imploring the ladies who were acting as his go-betweens not to allow the affair to get out of hand. Thus, pestered on both sides, these ladies had no very enviable time of it.

At the moment of which I am speaking Kaoru was still only about fourteen, but his character seemed to be already formed, and in general he promised so well for the future that Tamakatsura would not have been at all averse—and, indeed, why should she have been considering that the boy was Genji’s son, the Emperor Suzaku’s grandson, the adopted son of the ex-Emperor Ryozen, and already an officer of the Fourth Rank—to accepting him as her daughter’s suitor.

Her palace and that of Kaoru’s mother were both in the Third Ward, and it often happened that Tamakatsura’s boys would bring Kaoru home with them. The house happened at the time to be full of particularly lively young waiting-girls, who were a source of great interest to the visitors. Among those visitors one of the handsomest and by far the most frequent was Kurodo. But the most elegant and, in a reserved way, the most attractive, was undoubtedly the boy in the Fourth Rank.* Everywhere, partly because something extraordinary was expected of Genji’s son, he was treated as someone different and apart. The young girls in Tamakatsura’s service were lost in admiration of him, while she herself declared that he was “extraordinarily good to look at,” and had long, intimate conversations with him whenever he came to the house, maintaining that he was the only person left whom she could even expect to remind her of Prince Genji. “For Yugiri,” she said, “is now a public character of such importance that except on special occasions I can no longer hope to see him.” She regarded Kaoru in the light of a brother, and he too accepted the house as one which he could treat almost as his own. It surprised Tamakatsura that he was so singularly lacking in any taste for the frivolous pursuits of the day. Indeed his quietness was lamented by the young girls both in her house and his own, and they declared that, in the last resort, it made him very disappointing to deal with.

On New Year’s Day Tamakatsura’s brother Kobai, Higekuro’s son To no Chunagon, and Yugiri with his six sons all came to see her. Yugiri himself was looking extraordinarily handsome and imposing. The boys were, each in his own way, quite presentable. All of them had received very encouraging promotions at the New Year, and it was, Tamakatsura thought, a family that must on the whole cause very little anxiety. But it was strange that the youngest son, Kurodo no Shosho, despite the fact that such a fuss was made about him at home, looked every time she saw him more preoccupied and depressed.

Yugiri stationed himself in front of her screen-of-state and discoursed on affairs in general much as he had been used to do in old days. “It is a long while since I have managed to get here,” he said. “As the years go on I seem to go about less and less. I assure you a visit, except to the Palace, is quite an experience for me. Yet I am constantly thinking how agreeable it would be to come and chat with you about old times. My sons however have more leisure than I. Do make them useful sometimes. They are always saying they wish they knew of anything they could do for you.” “People take so little notice of my existence nowadays,” she answered, “that I sometimes wonder whether I do really exist at all. But to be visited by someone like you makes me almost feel that the old days have come again...” and her mind went back to Genji’s marvelous visits.

They fell presently to talking of the offers that had come from the ex-Emperor Ryozen. “I am puzzled what to do about it,” she said. “It is a great risk to let a girl go to Court unless she has really powerful backing.” “I hear,” said Yugiri, “that you have also had a request from the present Emperor; so that there is a further question for you to decide. Ryozen’s glories are of course a thing of the past, and there is always a certain atmosphere of depression in a household of that kind. But he himself has a charm that time does very little to diminish. I can only say that if I myself had a girl of a fairly suitable kind, I would not hesitate. But unfortunately I have not one whose circumstances are such that she could move comfortably in such surroundings.* Your daughter would certainly have the advantage of Lady Chujo’s^† support; whereas it has been precisely a fear of opposition from that quarter which has held several people back from offering their girls.”

“Lady Chujo,” she replied, “has very little on her hands nowadays, and if she set her mind to it she could certainly give the girl a very good time. Yes, I think if Lady Chujo were to suggest it, that would decide me.”

The visitors then went on in a body to Lady Nyosan’s, bringing with them Tamakatsura’s sons. For Nyosan was still visited both by such of her father’s^‡ relations as continued to feel obligation towards him, and by those of Genji’s friends whom he had begged not to neglect her, and it was now quite a troupe that flocked through her doors— Tamakatsura’s sons Sakon no Chujo, Uchuben and Jiju; Yugiri and all his sons, with a great crowd more. Towards evening Kaoru came in. All day long the place had been full of young men, none of whom could have been called commonplace or ugly. But no sooner did Kaoru enter the house than every eye was turned upon him. “What a difference!” one of the young waiting-girls whispered. “There’s the bridegroom that Lady Tamakatsura ought to be thinking about for her elder girl!” And indeed there was a singular charm in his boyish air and in the fragrance that wafted from him wherever he went. Inexperienced though Lady Tamakatsura’s daughter was supposed to be, it was hard to believe that, if she were in her senses at all, she could be in any doubt on which side her choice should lie.

Tamakatsura at once summoned Kaoru to her private chapel, and mounting the eastern step he conversed with her through the curtain that screened the chapel-door. Near by on a plum-tree that was just timorously struggling into bloom a nightingale was singing its first fragmentary song. Even at such a moment as this, was it impossible to make this strange young man unbend? So the ladies of the household asked themselves, and made more than one attempt to engage the boy in conversation. But he answered sedately in the fewest possible words, and at last a girl called Saisho no Kimi became so provoked that she recited the verse: “Would that your color* like your scent, O first flower of the plum, grew sweeter close at hand!” It was only an improvisation, and he contented himself with the reply: “Fair and sweet-scented are the buds it hides—the tree that from afar seemed black and bare.” “If you doubt it...” he added, and laughing held out his sleeve. They were still trying one after another to elicit some sign of interest from him, when Tamakatsura, coming across to them, whisperingly interceded: “You tiresome creatures, can you never leave anyone alone? Don’t you see that you are only making him uncomfortable? He is a serious young man.”

“A serious young man.” He overheard this depressing description, and did not feel flattered.

Tamakatsura’s third son, Jiju, now came back, for business had not yet recommenced at Court and he had no desire for the usual round of New Year visits. He brought in fruit and wine on two trays of aloe-wood. “Yugiri,” said Tamakatsura, “grows more like Prince Genji every day. But in you, Kaoru, I can see no likeness at all. Of course when he was quite young^† he may have had your sort of quietness and gentleness of manner. Yes, I dare say that was just what he was like at your age.”

Later in the month, when the plum-blossom had come into full bloom, Kaoru set out to call on Jiju, Tamakatsura’s son. He was determined on this occasion to efface the impression that he was “serious” or difficult to get on with. As he was going through the big door that led into the courtyard of the women’s apartments he became aware that someone, dressed like himself in ordinary clothes,* was standing in the shadow, apparently hoping not to be observed.

Kaoru caught hold of the intruder’s sleeve and found, not greatly to his surprise, that it was Kurodo no Shosho. Somewhere inside a zithern and lute were being played, and it was no doubt this sound that had drawn Kurodo no Shosho to his hiding-place behind the door. Kaoru was pained. Kurodo, it was clear, had set his heart on a prize that he could never, by fair means, hope to win. There would be trouble, dire trouble. The music had stopped, and Kaoru said quickly, “show me the way. You know the house better than I do.” They crossed together to the western corridor and halted at the foot of a red plum-tree that grew outside, Kaoru whistling as he approached it the air Bough of the Plum-tree.^† Someone inside set the double-doors ajar, and several zitherns began at once to accompany Kaoru’s tune. That the players were women he could at first hardly believe, for the song is in one of the ryo^‡ modes; but when he repeated it someone inside, this time on a lute, followed the melody with faultless skill.

This was evidently a quarter worth cultivating! Kaoru’s interest was aroused; for once, he began almost to be carried away by what was going on around him.

Presently someone handed out a Japanese zithern from behind the curtains. Kaoru motioned to Kurodo to take it, and he in turn tried to make Kaoru play; so that the zithern remained where it was. This seemed a pity, and Tamakatsura^§ sent her son Jiju to Kaoru with a message saying that she had been told his touch on the zithern resembled that of his late Excellency To no Chujo, and she was curious to hear whether this was so. Though at the moment Kaoru was feeling like doing anything in the world rather than exhibit his touch, he picked up the instrument and carelessly played a few notes. She saw however at once that he had a great command over the instrument. “You know, it is not so much To no Chujo as his son Kashiwagi that your playing reminds me of,” she said. “You are really extraordinarily like him in many ways.” And though she had not known Kashiwagi very well, the mere thought that someone was no longer in the world was enough—as is the case with most people who are themselves growing old—to bring tears into her eyes.

Kurodo, who had a very agreeable voice, now sang The Trefoil,* and as there were no tiresome elderly people there to interrupt with instructive suggestions the two of them went on from one old song to another. But Tamakatsura’s boy Jiju being, like his father, a poor hand at music had nothing to do but sit and make headway with the wine. “Come,” they said to him at last, “you must have a try, if only for luck!” and timidly he joined in when they were singing Bamboo River.^† His voice was still quite unformed but not at all disagreeable.

After a while the great earthenware tankard was brought out from the inner rooms. Kaoru had already drunk a good deal, and he remembered having heard that after a certain point one begins to talk without wanting to about things one meant to keep secret. He pushed the tankard away. “Do you like this better?” said Tamakatsura, sending him a hosonaga^‡ with a ko-uchigi^§ inside it, both agreeably scented and arranged just as she had worn them. Kaoru pretended not to know what they were, and after much scuffling and laughing succeeded in passing them on to Jiju. He then tried to get away, but Jiju prevented his leaving the house, and again decked him with Tamakatsura’s dress. “Let me go,” said Kaoru; “I cannot spend all night in the water-stables!”^¶ and he dashed away.

Kurodo no Shosho was convinced that if Kaoru began frequenting this part of the house, he himself would have no chance at all. He became very depressed, and told everyone that the life of anyone so unattractive as himself was not worth living.

Next morning Jiju had a letter from Kaoru. It was written chiefly in kana,** so that it was evidently meant to be shown to Jiju’s mother. It was clear that he regarded himself as having behaved very wildly the evening before. “What can you all have thought of me?” he said. On the margin of his letter was written the poem: “On Bamboo River, standing at the bridge, ‘twas but a shallow trickle that I showed of my deep heart’s full tide.”

In Tamakatsura’s room she and Jiju examined the letter. “It is a delightful piece of handwriting,” she said. “I cannot think where he has picked up all his accomplishments. He was only a few years old when his father died, and his mother has given very little attention to him.” She hoped the sight of this letter was making Jiju feel a little uncomfortable about his own uncouth handwriting. “It was only the water-stables* that we minded,” Jiju wrote in reply. “No one noticed anything else to complain of.” With the letter was the poem: “Small wonder that you fled; for in the garden of flowers by Bamboo River is no perch on which your thoughts could rest.”

But this was evidently not quite true, for Kaoru began coming to Jiju’s rooms with a frequency which needed some explanation, and which filled Kurodo no Shosho, who could not imagine that anyone would not instantly prefer Kaoru to himself, with utter despair. And Kurodo’s assumption did indeed appear not to be far wide of the mark. Jiju, to name one member of the household only, was content that any circumstance should have given him a companion so intimate and so delightful.

It was the third month, which is the real season of cherry-blossom, for not only are the boughs laden with it but the very air quavers with a storm of falling flowers. At Tamakatsura’s palace a profound stillness reigned. No visitor had set foot there all day, and it seemed so unlikely that anyone would come that Himegimi and her sister were sitting at the window, both of them handsome, lively girls of about seventeen to eighteen.

Himegimi herself was certainly the more striking of the two, and her beauty was so thoroughly in the style fashionable at the moment that it seemed inconceivable she would not do better for herself than marry into an ordinary clan. She wore a white dress lined with dark purple, and a skirt of a tint that recalled the globe-flower, as fold on fold it spilled its yellow shimmer on the floor. There was about her a singular air of competence and self-possession.

Her sister was dressed in a light reddish-brown, a color which suited^† the long, rippling tresses of her hair. She was very tall, but graceful and adroit in her movements. Her expression was more serious than that of her sister, and she looked as though she were capable of far deeper feelings.

Himegimi, the elder girl, was generally considered the more attractive of the two. On this particular occasion they were sitting opposite one another playing draughts, an occupation that can show a woman’s charms to great advantage, with its dangling tresses and raising and sinking of the head. Their younger brother Jiju was with them, “to see that they did not cheat,” he said. Presently the two elder brothers, Sakon no Chujo and Uchuben, looked into the room. “Jiju has stolen a march upon us,” they said. “Look, their ladyships have taken him on as referee in a game of draughts.” And with a rather patronizing air, complete men of the world, they advanced towards the draughts-board, leaving it to the ladies-in-waiting to make room for them.

“It is too bad,” said Sakon no Chujo, “that while I am slaving at the Palace Jiju should step in and supplant me here.” “And what about me?” said Uchuben. “My work in the Council of State takes up far more time, and I might easily be forgiven for neglecting my courtly duties in this house, were I so faithless as to do so.”

The girls had stopped their game and were sitting looking in front of them with an air of slight bewilderment that was very engaging. Sakon no Chujo knew how much, both at the Palace and wherever he went, he missed the late Minister’s support. And as he looked at his sisters tears filled his eyes at the thought that their case was worse than his own. But he was now twenty-seven. He was beginning to have some influence, and he must use the whole of it to do for these girls some part, at least of what his father would have done.

Out in the garden there was, among the many flowering trees, one particular cherry-tree with a scent that far exceeded that of all the rest. Sakon sent someone to pluck a branch and set it in his sister’s hands.

“What blossom!” Himegimi said. “There is no flower like it!” “That is the tree,” said Sakon no Chujo, “about which we had a quarrel when we were small. Each of you said that it was yours, and I said it belonged to me. Father said it was Himegimi’s, and mother said it was Wakagimi’s* tree. But no one said it was mine, and I remember that though I did not cry or make a fuss, I was very unhappy about it. It is growing old itself— this cherry-tree,” he went on, “and makes one feel old along with it. So many people that once shared it with us are gone now.” He spoke sadly, yet half-smiling. The sisters had seldom seen him in so serious a mood. He was married now, and lived with his wife’s people, so that he could seldom spend a quiet hour like this at his mother’s house. But today he had been determined to come, simply for the sake of this tree.

It was strange to think that this full-grown man was Tamakatsura’s son, for she looked far younger than her age, and had indeed retained much of her beauty; and if the ex-Emperor Ryozen continually asked about her intentions with regard to Himegimi, it was not so much the daughter as the mother who was in his thoughts. For turning the matter over in his mind he saw no other prospect of his ever meeting Tamakatsura again.

About his sister’s future Sakon no Chujo had decided views. “Everything has its time,” he said, “and Ryozen’s is long past. He is, I grant, still a fine-looking man; but even if he were the handsomest and most attractive person in the world, his present situation would make his life a depressing one to share. It is the same with everything. The zithern and the flute with their tunes, the trees with their blossom, the birds with their song—each keeps to its own season and then only can please the eye or ear. But the Crown Prince, now...”

“Oh come,” broke in Tamakatsura, “she is not wanted there. His attention is already fully occupied. If Higekuro were alive, we could take the risk; but now we must arrange something that will make her future, if not brilliant, at any rate secure.”

When Sakon no Chujo went away his sisters resumed their game of draughts. It was to be the best out of three, and the winner, they laughingly decided, should have the cherry-tree for her own. As it was getting dark they moved the board as close as possible to the window, and their respective waiting-women, raising the blinds, gathered round, each bent on the victory of her own side.

Presently, as usual, Kurodo no Shosho arrived and went straight to Jiju’s room; but Jiju had gone out with his brothers. There seemed indeed to be no one about, and as the door of the corridor leading to the women’s apartments was ajar, Kurodo stepped lightly towards it and looked in. He was dumbfounded at his own good fortune. His heart stood still as it might have done if Buddha himself had suddenly risen up in front of him. It was misty as well as late, but soon among the mass of dark figures he distinguished the sharp contrasts of a “cherry”* dress. Yes, that surely was she. He gazed and gazed, that he might at least have something to remember “when the flowers were fallen.”^† He saw her clearly now; but her beauty filled him only with a greater sadness. Better now than ever before he knew how much it was that he was doomed to lose.

The young girls in attendance, who were for the most part very lightly and negligently clad, presented a charming spectacle in the evening light. The elder sister lost the match. “Where is the Korean^‡ fanfare?” someone wittily asked. “The trouble has always been,” said one of Wakagimi’s ladies, “that although you have a tree of your own, for it is nearest to your lady’s room, you people would insist year after year that this other one was your tree. Well, that’s over anyway!” The “junior side,” elated by its victory, was becoming quite truculent.

Kurodo had not the least idea what all this was about. But the conversation amused him, and he longed to join in it. This however was for the moment out of the question, for to break in upon a party of ladies whose costumes and attitudes showed so clearly that they were counting on not being disturbed, would be the height of ill-breeding. He slipped away and, hoping that before long a better opportunity would occur, hung about somewhere in the dark.

It was a windy evening, and now the cherry-blossom, for the possession of which the two sisters had contended, was tumbling in great showers to the ground.

“Though you would not be mine, uneasy, faithless blossoms, grows my heart, to see the night-wind rise.” Such was Himegimi’s poem, and her maid Saisho: “A brittle victory, that at the wind’s first breath casts all its guerdon shivering to the ground.” And Wakagimi: “Though flower from branch be this world’s windy law, because the tree is mine, my heart can have no rest.”* And her maid, Taiu: “Wise flowers that fall towards the margin^† of the lake, and lapping surf-like drift to your own side.”

At this, one of Wakagimi’s page-boys went to the foot of the tree and collected an armful of petals which he brought back, reciting: “Though the great winds of heaven scatter them, mine are they, mine to gather as I will—these blossoms of the cherry-tree.” To which Nareki, a little girl in Himegimi’s service answered: “Were your sleeve wide enough, even the perfume, O selfish folk, you would enfold, I think, and keep it for your own.”^‡

As time went on the ex-Emperor became more and more insistent. Lady Chujo, his Consort, also wrote, pointing out that Tamakatsura’s delay^§ was awkward for her also; for Ryozen had got it into his head that it was owing to her protestations that Tamakatsura still hesitated. “Up till now,” she wrote, “he has only suggested this jokingly. But I am in a very difficult position. Unless you have any special reason against doing so, I implore you to carry the matter through without further delay.”

Tamakatsura saw that she could not allow the royal pair to plead any longer. This was evidently to be Himegimi’s fate, and there was nothing left but to get together as quickly as possible such things as she and her gentlewomen would need in the ex-Emperor’s palace. The news of these preparations soon reached Kurodo no Shosho’s ear. Beside himself, he rushed to his mother, Lady Kumoi, imploring her to take some step in the matter. His life, he wildly said, depended on it. She accordingly wrote to Tamakatsura, saying: “I know it is very foolish and impertinent on my part to write to you about such a thing; but there is some excuse for me if I am astray, for the darkness^¶ in which perhaps I have lost my way is the blackest that life holds. You indeed, who are in my own position, should be the last to misunderstand me. I am sure you will find some way to set my misgivings at rest.”

It was a distressing letter to receive, all the more so because Tamakatsura was by no means certain that she had acted for the best. “I assure you,” she answered, “that I myself am extremely uneasy about it all, though I feel that Ryozen’s insistence left me with no choice. I can only ask you to wait patiently for a while. Later on I hope I may be able to suggest a way out of the difficulty that will prove creditable and satisfactory to everybody.” What she had in mind was that, when it was all over, Kurodo no Shosho might be persuaded to take the younger girl, Wakagimi, instead. Ryozen, she was sure, would have consented to take both girls into his household. But she felt that to suggest such an arrangement would be rather an imposition. Kurodo no Shosho, on the other hand, was at a stage in his career when his prospects were wholly uncertain... She need not however have troubled to debate the matter, for Kurodo himself, so far from being prepared to shift his affections at a word of command, was more than ever obsessed by his unattainable desire. The memory of that spring evening perpetually haunted him, and even now, though all his hopes had vanished, his only thought was how that momentary vision might be repeated.

One evening when, as so often before, knowing that his errand would be fruitless, yet unable to keep away, he came to Jiju’s room, he found him reading a letter from Kaoru. Jiju at once put the letter away. This was sufficient to convince Kurodo no Shosho of the subject* with which the letter must deal, and he snatched at it unceremoniously. To keep it from him would merely be to admit that his suspicion was well-founded, and as in reality it was not at all in the nature of a love-letter, containing indeed only the vaguest expression of a general discontent, Jiju made no attempt to recover it.

The note of gentle and restrained melancholy which pervaded Kaoru’s letter irritated Kurodo profoundly. For it seemed by contrast to make his own wild outbursts, to which as he was aware his friends were so well accustomed that they no longer paid the slightest attention to them, appear merely ill-bred and ridiculous. He handed back the letter without a word, and for a moment thought of going to see Omoto, a gentlewoman of Himegimi’s, to whom he was in the habit of unburdening himself. But what was the use of saying all over again what he had said so often before?

“I must answer this letter,” Jiju said presently, and went off towards Tamakatsura’s room, evidently meaning to show her the letter before he answered it. A moment later Kurodo, despite himself, was again in Omoto’s room, describing his sufferings in a manner more harrowing than ever before. To take him seriously was impossible; to laugh at him would have been brutal. She simply let him talk.

Presently he revealed the fact that on the evening when Himegimi lost her draughts-match he had watched the game unseen, and he told Omoto that if she could only, before Himegimi departed for ever, promise him another such fleeting glimpse, it would give him for the moment at least something to live for. “For soon I shall lose everything,” he said, “even these talks of ours which, painful though you have made them for me, will one day seem precious, for they will be all that I shall have to look back on.”

She knew him too well to dream of cajoling him by Tamakatsura’s too simple method,* and irritated at her own inability to say anything that could comfort him, she began to scold him instead. Really, he was more trying tonight than ever before. It was no doubt the unfortunate incident of the other evening that had brought on the change. “If I were to tell Lady Tamakatsura of your insufferable conduct the other night,” she said, “she would certainly never let you into the house again. And as far as I am concerned I have lost all sympathy with you. I feel that you are no longer to be trusted at all.”

“I don’t care what you feel,” he said. And Lady Tamakatsura may do as she pleases. Do you think that anyone suffering as I suffer is likely to be frightened of her, or of anything? And as for your sympathy—you could easily have helped me if you had wanted to. The other night, for example, you could have sent for me to watch the game. As a matter of fact, I saw all the time what moves your side ought to have made, and I could have helped you to win.”

But in an altered voice he suddenly recited the verse: “Why, unaccountable partner of my days, has it pursued me thus—the thought that I could win?”

The next day was the first of the fourth month.^† But Kurodo instead of going with his brothers to pay the compliments of the season at Court, sat moping at home.

“I wish now,” said Yugiri to his wife, who, worn out by Kurodo’s ceaseless lamentations, was herself almost in tears, “I wish now that I had put in a word for Kurodo when I saw Tamakatsura on New Year’s Day. But the first thing she told me was that the girl was being courted by the ex-Emperor Ryozen, which made me think it was useless for me to say anything. Since then, however I have sometimes thought that if I had pressed Kurodo’s claims very strongly, I might have made some impression.”

In Tamakatsura’s quarters a discussion arose among some of the higher gentlewomen concerning the manner in which Himegimi’s various suitors were bearing the prospect of her departure.

Outwardly of course Kurodo’s case seemed to be by far the most desperate. But many of the ladies insisted that all this talk about dying for love and so on meant nothing at all. “I wish it were so,” said Omoto, with feeling. And Tamakatsura, who overheard the conversation, felt very uneasy, not merely on the boy’s behalf, but also because she foresaw a complete breach between herself and his parents. For a moment she thought of suggesting to Ryozen that he should accept the younger daughter instead. But the idea of allowing a person in Kurodo’s position to stand between Himegimi and the ex-Emperor was, when one came to look into it, preposterous. Moreover it was concerning Himegimi and not the younger girl that Higekuro had left particular instructions which debarred her from marrying a commoner. It was doubtful even if in accepting Ryozen’s offer she was aiming as high as Higekuro would have wished.

The Presentation took place on the ninth day of the fourth month. Yugiri provided a coach and a great number of outriders. Kumoi felt very little disposed to make any sign. But after years of estrangement this affair had brought her once more into communication with her sister,* and it seemed a pity to let their relationship lapse once more, as it certainly would if she did nothing now, and in the end she made a very handsome present of stuffs and dresses. “I have had poor Kurodo,” she wrote, “ so much on my hands and have felt so alarmed by his condition that I am afraid I have quite neglected your affairs. I am however disappointed to have heard no more from you with regard to a suggestion that you once made...” The tone of the letter, Tamakatsura was ready to admit, could scarcely have been more conciliatory, nor the hint^† which it contained more delicately suppressed. Yugiri excused himself from coming on the ground that it was a bad^‡ day for him; but he sent his elder sons, begging Tamakatsura to make use of them in any way she could. The coaches for the ladies-in-waiting were provided by Kobai. Being closely related both to Tamakatsura and to her late husband^§ he would, but for Higekuro’s curious disposition, probably have been a constant visitor. But as it was, they had not seen him for years.

To Chunagon, Higekuro’s son by his first wife,^¶ was in charge of the proceedings, assisted by Sakon no Chujo, Uchuben, and the rest. Tamakatsura surveyed the preparations sadly. It was Higekuro’s plan that they were carrying out that day, and he alone was not there to witness it!

Kurodo was making the darkest threats. In a letter which Omoto received that day he spoke of having only a very short while to live. “Surely, no woman, however great her general indifference, could hear this without feeling some sort of sympathy with the doomed man? And who knows but that she might not vouchsafe to him the one word of pity that even now would rally him to a brief prolongation of his days?”

Omoto went with the letter to her mistress’s rooms. She found the two sisters in very low spirits. Himegimi’s Presentation robes, though more beautiful than anything she had ever worn before, were a constant reminder to her not only of the separation that was about to ensue, but also of her father and the joy it would have been to him to see her thus attired. She was already in a state of considerable emotion when she took the letter from Omoto’s hand.

She felt completely mystified. The young man could scarcely have been in a more enviable position. At home his parents were devoted to him, a prosperous career lay open before him; and yet, as the result of one small disappointment, he imagined himself to be dying of melancholy. But what if he should indeed be dying? She hesitated for a while and then wrote in the margin of Omoto’s letter: “Not to one mortal only but to all that in this dark world dwell, that word* I must accord.” “Understand,” she added, “that this is written only in view of the terrible news which your letter contains.”

Kurodo was at first overjoyed; but his pleasure soon gave place to the reflection that, had she not known that in a few hours she would be safely in another’s possession, even these few cold words would never have been written, and once more he gave way to an uncontrollable paroxysm of despair.

Presently he folded the letter back and on the outside, after various descants on the theme of “When I die of love,”^† he wrote the poem: “That word, save to the dead refused, I shall not hear; for living speech to dead men’s ears is mute.” “Were I but certain,” he added, “that you would lay your pity on my tomb, how swiftly would I go!” She saw at once that it had been a great mistake to reply at all. This time she would return the letter to him just as it was. But when Omoto offered to take it, she said neither yes nor no.

Soon it was time to start. Received with elaborate pomp and ceremony, waited upon and attended by a magnificent bevy of gentlewomen and pages, she could scarcely have begun her new life with more splendor even had Ryozen still been on the Throne.

On her arrival she was taken by her mother straight to Lady Chujo’s rooms. It was not till late at night that she was brought to Ryozen. His other consorts—Lady Chujo and Akikonomu—were no longer young and had lost much of their good looks; the newcomer was at the height of her youth and beauty. Ryozen could not fail to be charmed, and it was indeed at once apparent that she had made an excellent impression. Great personage though he was, she did not find him in the least alarming. His manner towards her was easy and natural. In every way her new life seemed to have started as well as could be wished. He had indeed secretly hoped that Tamakatsura, who had accompanied her daughter, would remain with her for some time, and it was a great disappointment to hear that she had slipped away at the earliest opportunity.

Kaoru’s position in this household was one such as no commoner had occupied in an Imperial palace since Genji’s early days. Not only was he constantly in the ex-Emperor’s company, but both with Akikonomu and Lady Chujo he was on terms of the utmost familiarity. It was natural therefore that he should cultivate the friendship of this newcomer* to the palace. His behavior was indeed such as to suggest that he felt a considerable partiality towards her; but in reality he was chiefly curious to discover whether she felt any interest in him.

Most of Himegimi’s suitors had by now transferred their attentions to her sister. Remembering her promise to Kumoi, Tamakatsura wrote to Kurodo, hinting that his suit would be particularly acceptable. But she received no answer. Yugiri’s sons had always been constant visitors to Ryozen’s palace; but after Himegimi’s arrival there, Kurodo completely absented himself. He indeed appeared at Court at all only on the rarest occasions and spent most of his time buried away at home, interested in nothing that went on and flying from all who approached him.

The Emperor was surprised that Higekuro’s wishes^† had not been respected, and sent for Tamakatsura’s son Sakon no Chujo to ask for an explanation. “I am afraid the interview is going to be a very difficult one,” he said to his mother. “I told you from the start that we were certain to be adversely criticized. But you thought otherwise. I have already been finding it difficult to defend our action, and now comes this Imperial message. You have put yourself as well as me into a very awkward position.”

“Oh come,” she answered, “you cannot pretend that the matter was settled with any undue haste. It was only when Ryozen, after months of patience, began to press urgently for a decision that I was forced once and for all to balance up the advantages and disadvantages of the two offers. I came to the conclusion that the Emperor’s household, where there was no one in particular to look after her, had from the point of view of her real happiness hardly anything to recommend it; whereas Ryozen—But you have seen for yourself how happily she is settled. It is a pity if you were so much against it that you none of you made this clearer while there was still time. Yugiri is just the same. He has been telling me that he entirely disapproves of what I have done. I’m sorry; but the thing had to be.”*

She spoke with quiet confidence. It was evident that she was not in the least shaken by all these criticisms. “Unfortunately,” replied Sakon no Chujo, “it is my sister’s present life with which we are dealing and not what may have happened to her in some previous existence. No doubt His Majesty’s annoyance was also decreed by karma, but that does not make it any the easier for me to pacify him. Nor is it any use my saying that we were afraid of offending the Empress; for he will immediately ask why we are not equally afraid of offending Ryozen’s consorts.^† And as a matter of fact, though at present Lady Chujo seems disposed to be friendly and helpful, this cannot possibly go on. Consider the question dispassionately and you will see at once the absurdity of your attitude. What, pray, would become of the Court if the existence of an Empress prevented any other lady setting foot there? The mere fact of being called on to serve the Emperor has in the past always been considered a sufficient honor in itself, irrespective of how many other people were similarly honored. The situation at Ryozen’s is quite different. There her whole comfort depends on the good nature of others. A single slight misunderstanding, and there may spring up such a wrangle between aunt and niece^‡ as will provide the world with a very unedifying spectacle.”

She found that her second son, Uchuben was of exactly the same opinion, and began to feel very uneasy.

Meanwhile Ryozen seemed to become more engrossed in his new favorite every day. In the seventh month it became clear that she was going to have a child. Her indisposition however seemed only to enhance her beauty, and those in charge of her could well understand why she had been so eagerly courted and why news of Tamakatsura’s decision had been greeted in so many quarters with such extraordinary outbursts of rage and disappointment.

Her principal recreation was music, and the ex-Emperor spent hour after hour listening to her. On these occasions he often brought Kaoru with him. He was interested not so much in her playing as in that of her maid Omoto. She it was, he ascertained, who had accompanied so skillfully the day he whistled the Plum-tree tune. Ryozen would now often send for her to play on the Japanese zithern, which she did in so delightful a manner that Kaoru found himself thinking a good deal about her.

Next year the Palace mumming was held. There happened at the time, among the young men at Court, to be a great many who danced and sang well, so that the Emperor had a wide choice in making up the two teams. The right side was captained by Kaoru, and Kurodo was also chosen to dance. An almost full moon was shining from a cloudless sky when they made their way from the Emperor’s Palace to that of Ryozen. Both Lady Chujo and Himegimi were with the ex-Emperor on this occasion. A great crowd of princes and courtiers who had followed the mummers from the Palace were also among the audience; but it was noticed that every single visitor of any importance belonged either to Yugiri’s or To no Chujo’s* family. The world seemed at the moment able to produce good looks and real elegance in no other quarter.

It was known that in matters of this kind Ryozen was far more fastidious than the present Emperor, and the performers were all particularly on their mettle. None indeed more so than Kurodo no Shosho, who being aware that Himegimi was present could scarcely conceal his agitation. The costume, with its head-dress of cotton plumes, is an uncouth one, but Kurodo had the right figure for it and looked unusually well; his singing too was very good. Bamboo River was one of the mummers’ songs, and as he approached the royal dais singing this tune a rush of recollection assailed him, and the tears so filled his eyes that he could scarcely stumble through his part.

Another performance was given in Akikonomu’s apartments, and Ryozen was again present. It was now very late, but the moon was high in the sky and shone down upon the dancers with so searching a light that they showed up even better than in the daytime. “Was she looking at him? What was passing through her mind?” Kurodo no Shosho, obsessed by these thoughts, might have been treading on air, so little was he conscious of the movements of his feet; and when, after the dance, wine was handed along, he surprised everyone by absent-mindedly clinging to the cup as though it had been meant for him alone.

Kaoru was tired out when he got back to his mother’s palace in the Third Ward, for he had spent the whole night dancing and singing in place after place. No sooner, however, had he lain down than a message came summoning him back to Ryozen’s apartments. “How irritating!” he said. “I did think that this time I was really going to get a little rest.” And grumbling as he went, he set off to obey the summons. Ryozen merely wanted to hear some details about the performance at the reigning Emperor’s Palace. “It has always been the custom,” he said presently, “to choose one of the older men as captain. So you may consider the Emperor paid you a great compliment,” and he eyed the young man admiringly. Presently he led Kaoru off to Himegimi’s rooms, humming the Bansuraku* as he went. Her apartments were still crowded with friends whom she had invited to see the performance, and the scene was one of great elegance and animation. At the door of the cross-gallery Kaoru heard a voice that he knew—it was no doubt one of the gentlewomen from Tamakatsura’s palace—and got into conversation. “I can’t imagine what we looked like,” he said. “Moonlight, when it is as strong as that, is terribly unbecoming. Poor Kurodo no Shosho seemed to be completely dazzled by it; though oddly enough at the Emperor’s, where the moonlight was almost as strong, he did not seem to be in the least put out.^†

Some of the gentlewomen who heard this remark thought it rather spiteful. But one of his flatterers, thinking to please Kaoru by bringing the conversation back to the subject of his own appearance, assured him that he need not worry. “Everyone,” she said, “was remarking how particularly well the strong contrasts of the moonlight suited features such as yours.” And she pushed out a scrap of paper with the poem: “Do you remember that night in the garden, and Bamboo River? Or in your memory for things unmemorable is there no room at all?”

“Ceaseless since that hour the waters of the River have flowed and carried with them all fond hopes to the deep.” So he answered, and the words seemed to contain a suggestion of such infinite melancholy that everyone within hearing was deeply touched. Yet in point of fact, compared with those of a person really in love, Kaoru’s feelings towards Himegimi were of a quite negligible order. But there was something about his appearance and character which tended to arouse sympathy even when he was least in need of it, and he was constantly being credited with emotions that he did not in the least feel. “This positively mustn’t be repeated,” he said rising to go. “Indeed, it was wrong of me to talk in that way at all.” At this moment a message came from Ryozen asking what had become of him, and though he was in no mood for further exertion he was obliged to go.

“Genji,” said Ryozen, “on the morning of the men’s mumming had women’s dancing as well. Apparently it was a great success. Yugiri told me about it. I don’t think we could manage that now; we lack the talent. It is extraordinary to think what a number of unusually accomplished and gifted women there were at the New Palace in those days. They made it possible to do all sorts of delightful and entertaining things.” The instruments were then tuned, Himegimi playing the thirteen-stringed zithern, Kaoru the lute, and Ryozen himself the Japanese zithern. They played The Trefoil* and other tunes. It was extraordinary what progress the girl had made under Ryozen’s tuition. Her touch was in the latest style, and neither song-accompaniments nor the most difficult zithern-pieces gave her any trouble. It was impossible, Kaoru was sure, that someone so unusually gifted in every other way should not also have great beauty.^†

Occasions of this kind were frequent at Ryozen’s palace, and in course of time Kaoru naturally got to know the girl very well. When, as sometimes happened, he expressed his great admiration for her, it was always in the most guarded and respectful terms, though he would sometimes go so far as to hint that her mother’s decision had been a great disappointment to him.

The disappointment indeed may not have been only on his side. Who knows?

In the fourth month Himegimi bore a daughter. The event was not of course of the same importance as it would have been in the case of a boy, or if Ryozen had still been on the Throne. But it was evident that the ex-Emperor was delighted and everyone at Court, from Yugiri downwards, thought it permissible to mark the occasion by sending toys and birth-presents. The child was born at home. Tamakatsura instantly took a great fancy to it, and was never tired of dandling it in her arms. But Ryozen kept on insisting that Himegimi should return at the earliest possible moment, and on the fiftieth day after her delivery she came back to his palace. Apart from Ichi no Miya,^‡ who was now grown up, he had no other daughter. Himegimi’s baby, who was indeed an exceptionally fine and promising child, at once became a great favorite, and Ryozen tended more than ever to spend all his time in Himegimi’s quarters.

This state of affairs was resented more by Lady Chujo’s gentlewomen than by herself. Between her people and Himegimi’s feeling began to run high; and a number of unpleasant incidents occurred. Tamakatsura heard of what was going on, and remembered her conversations with Sakon no Chujo. He was young, and at the time she had not been inclined to pay much attention to his warnings. But he was the girl’s brother. He had been right to speak out, and certainly everything seemed to be happening just as he had foretold. Ryozen, it could not be doubted, was deeply attached to the girl. But if Lady Chujo’s women, who had been in her service for years, made up their minds to cause trouble between her and the girl, nothing Ryozen could do would save Himegimi from finding herself in a very painful position.

The Emperor, it seemed, was still constantly hinting that he would like to have the second girl, Wakagimi, at the Palace. Determined not to expose her to the same vexations as Himegimi was enduring, Tamakatsura made up her mind to offer Wakagimi not as a concubine but in a public capacity. The easiest way to effect this was to hand on to Wakagimi her own office of Lady-of-the-Bedchamber. The position was one for which suitable occupants were difficult to discover, and though Tamakatsura had sent in her resignation many years ago, it had never been accepted. It was however discovered on looking into the matter, that there were ancient precedents for the office descending from one generation to another, and in consideration for the services which Higekuro had rendered to the Government the Emperor gave his consent. It seemed indeed providential* that Tamakatsura’s resignation should have remained unaccepted for, so many years.

There really did seem to be some chance that Wakagimi was now disposed of in a way that would ensure her happiness. But Tamakatsura’s own troubles were not at an end. She was conscious that she had more or less promised the younger girl to Kurodo no Shosho, whose mother would now no doubt consider that she had behaved very badly. With the hope of putting this right she sent her second son Uchuben to Yugiri,^† asking him to explain that had she been free to act as she chose she would not, quite apart from her obligations to Yugiri’s family, ever have dreamt of putting both her daughters into Court service. Such a course, she knew, must savor of ambition. But the Emperor’s decree had left her no choice... “The Emperor,” replied Yugiri, “was very much annoyed by what had already occurred; and he had good reason to be. As for the office of Lady-of-the-Bedchamber—personally I think your mother should have been allowed to resign years ago, when she stopped appearing at Court. The sooner Wakagimi takes it over, the better.”

It was thought advisable to obtain formal permission from the Empress, a somewhat humiliating step which, Tamakatsura sadly reflected, would have been quite unnecessary had Higekuro been still alive and in power. The Emperor had heard a great deal about Himegimi’s extraordinary charm, and very little about Wakagimi. He was however agreeably surprised by her. She had great elegance, and set about her work at Court very competently.

It seemed to Tamakatsura that her task in the world was finished and she decided to take the Vows.^‡ But her sons persuaded her that her thoughts were in reality still far too much occupied with the welfare of her two daughters. “Wait,” they said, “till you can apply yourself calmly and wholeheartedly to your devotions.” She let the matter drop, and even took to paying an occasional secret visit to Court, where she saw Wakagimi, but never the older girl, for she did not feel capable of responding to Ryozen’s gallantries.* She felt indeed that she had more than made up for the pain she caused him in old days by the concession^† she had now made in defiance of everyone’s advice. As for herself, she had reached an age when anything of that kind, or even the suspicion of it, merely served to make one ridiculous. She had however of course not explained this to Himegimi, and the girl was hurt that Tamakatsura never visited her. But her sister, Himegimi reflected, had always been Tamakatsura’s favorite. Even in the trivial matter of the cherry tree this preference had been evident. Only Higekuro had ever really been fond of her! She felt very unhappy about it. Ryozen himself, who had looked forward to constant visits from Tamakatsura, was naturally very much disappointed... “Though I can see that there is every reason why she should prefer the other Palace,” he said. “Here we are all growing very dull and out-of-date.”

Several years later Himegimi bore a son. In all these years his three consorts had between them only produced two children, and both were girls. The event therefore caused a considerable stir, and Ryozen himself was delighted. For his son’s sake, indeed, he now regretted that he was no longer on the Throne, for he seemed by his abdication to have wantonly deprived the child of what would have been a magnificent position.^‡ Ichi no Miya,^§ to whom he had formerly been devotedly attached, ceased after the arrival of Himegimi’s two children to interest him at all, and even Lady Chujo, long-suffering though she was, felt that things had gone too far. Incidents were constantly occurring which it was very difficult to smooth over, and whereas the ill-feeling had previously been confined to their rival gentlewomen, relations between the two mistresses themselves now became more and more difficult.

In situations of this kind, in whatever class of society they occur, opinion from that of the most insignificant menial upwards is always loudly voiced on the side of old-established rights as opposed to the claims of a new-comer. And at Ryozen’s palace everyone from top to bottom, irrespective of how little their duties brought them into contact with either side, would hear nothing said against the two great ladies^¶ who had for so many years had things all their own way, but invariably attributed whatever Himegimi did or said to the basest possible motives. The worst that Tamakatsura’s sons had foreseen was being fulfilled, as they themselves were not slow to point out to her. She saw all about her girls for whom no such ambitious plans had been made settling down to a quiet and comfortable existence, and she felt a sudden conviction that except for people with every possible circumstance in their favor, Court service was a complete mistake.

Meanwhile, as the years went by, Himegimi’s former suitors rose from rank to rank, and many of them were now, as Tamakatsura was bound to confess, in such high positions that there no longer seemed to be any incongruity in the idea of their marrying a Grand Minister’s daughter. Kaoru, for example, whom in the old days she had regarded as a mere schoolboy, was now a Counselor with the rank of Colonel in the Bodyguard, and he and Niou were the most talked-of figures at Court. That two such desirable young men should remain unmarried struck Tamakatsura as quite unaccountable. She knew indeed for a fact that they had rejected offers from one great prince and statesman after another. “They were certainly both interested in Himegimi,” she said. “But in those days they were mere boys and it was impossible to tell how they would turn out. If they had been as they are now...”

Kurodo no Shosho was also a Colonel, and a counselor of the Third Rank. The more malicious among Tamakatsura’s gentlewomen lost no opportunity of mentioning his success in her presence. “And as far as good looks go,” they would add, “there was never much amiss with him.” “It would have been better than all this unpleasantness,”* they whispered behind her back, wondering how a woman of her experience could have behaved with so little discretion.

The new Colonel^† was apparently still in exactly the same love-sick condition as years before. He had accepted as his wife a daughter of the Minister of the Left, but did not take the slightest interest in her. He seemed still to cling to the idea that somehow, in the end, Himegimi would be his, and the Oracle of Hitachi^‡ figured continually both in his conversation and in his copybooks.^§

Meanwhile Himegimi, worn out by the constant bickerings at Ryozen’s palace, spent more and more time at her mother’s, which only served to make Tamakatsura feel how completely her plans had failed. Wakagimi, on the other hand, caused no anxiety. She delighted in her new life, and had indeed become one of the most conspicuous figures at Court.

Kurodo’s father-in-law, the Minister of the Left, died about this time, and there was a general adjustment of offices. Yugiri became Minister of the Left, and Kobai Minister of the Right, with the rank of Major-General. In the general shuffling Kaoru was promoted to the position of Middle Counselor, while Kurodo filled Kaoru’s old place.

In his round of visits* Kaoru began with Tamakatsura, and did formal obeisance to her in the courtyard in front of her rooms. Subsequently she received him in private. “Nowadays,” she said, “‘the grass grows so deep at my doors’ that you might easily have passed me by. But I am glad you did not forget me, for your visits never fail to remind me of certain occasions in days long ago.”^† Her voice always pleased him. There was something in it gracious, distinguished—a youthful buoyancy, even, that always astonished him. No wonder that after all these years Ryozen still hankered after her. Perhaps even now, Kaoru thought as he listened to that fresh, animated voice, something might come of it.

“I don’t particularly want to be congratulated,” he said. “There is indeed nothing very exciting about this promotion. But it gave me an excuse for coming to see you—which I have been meaning to do for a long time. I am afraid your remark about my not passing you by was a hint that I sometimes seem to do so...” “What I really want to do,” she said, “is to talk to you about this trouble at Ryozen’s palace. Today, I know, is hardly the time to worry you with an elderly woman’s perplexities. But I could hardly ask you to come on purpose, and it is all far too complicated to write about. Lady Chujo, as you know, promised to take a special interest in the girl, and Akikonomu went out of her way to assure me that she had no objection. But now they both seem to treat her as though she were some drab who has been clandestinely smuggled into the Palace. The two children must remain where they are. But Himegimi herself was becoming so worn out by all this that I decided to bring her home, where at any rate she can get a little rest and quiet. But Ryozen has already said that it looks bad for her to stay here so long, and I do not know what is going to happen. Do speak to Ryozen about it the next time you get a chance. I see now that under the circumstances it was madness on my part to have any confidence in either of her sponsors. But both of them were so friendly and made such definite promises that I was completely taken in. I cannot think how I can have been so childishly incompetent.” “You make far too much of all this,” said Kaoru. “A certain amount of friction is and always has been inevitable in such situations, and it is bound to be worse in a household like Ryozen’s where, compared with what it used to be before his retirement, life is rather tame and monotonous. So far as I can see both of the ladies in public maintain a perfectly friendly attitude.* But it would be strange indeed if they were not inwardly a little bit jealous. As a matter of fact both of them have always been rather inclined to take offence where it was not meant and to brood over small trifles. But you must have realized that there would occasionally be misunderstandings of this sort when you sent her there. All Himegimi needs is a little patience and the capacity sometimes to shut her eyes to what is going on around her.”

“My poor grievances!” she said laughing. “It was hardly worth storing them up for you so long if you were going to dispose of them so easily.” It was as though she had suddenly thrown off all weight of parental responsibility, and could for the moment take the thing as lightly as he did. He had an impression that Himegimi was capable of just such transitions, and it was certain that what most attracted him in the Princess of Uji^† was something very much of this kind.

Soon after this Wakagimi also paid a visit to her home, and with both wings of the house occupied and the quiet, happy life of the sisters going on just as in old days it seemed as though nothing had ever happened to interrupt it. Kaoru was indeed almost the only visitor. He was always acutely conscious, when he came to the house, that two pairs of eyes, used lately to far more animated scenes, were giving him their undivided attention. This put him on his best behavior, and Tamakatsura regretted more than ever that she had not given a young man so well-balanced and sensible the chance of entering her family.

The new Minister of the Right^‡ lived in a palace inherited by his wife from Prince Sochi. It was the next house to Tamakatsura’s. At the Great Banquet^§ a vast number of princes and nobles were present, and Kobai had hoped to get Prince Niou, who had recently consented to appear both at the Archers’ Banquet given by Yugiri and at the Wrestlers’ Feast. But though Kobai had assured him that the whole success of the occasion depended on his being there, Niou failed to appear. It was known to be Kobai’s great ambition to secure him for Oigimi or Naka no Kimi, the two daughters to whom he was so devotedly attached. But for some reason Niou showed no signs of interest in the plan.

Failing him, there was much to be said (as both Kobai and his wife agreed) for the Middle Counsellor,^¶ who seemed to be turning out uncommonly well.

The rattle of coaches and the shouting of the outriders were plainly audible in the house next door. Such sounds, Tamakatsura remembered, had once enlivened her own courtyard, and they started a train of absorbing recollections. “Some people,” she said at last, “have criticized Sochi’s widow for allowing Kobai to frequent her house so soon after the Prince’s death. But there is after all perhaps something to be said for keeping the flame of love burning. One cannot make rules about such things. Sometimes I feel that she was right.”

On the evening after the Banquet Kurodo no Shosho called. He had no doubt discovered that Himegimi was in residence again, and this had thrown his feelings into a fresh access of commotion. “It is of course gratifying in a way,” he said, “that the Government has recognized my services. But inwardly I remain in such a state of continual torment that I am barely conscious of my promotion. This has been going on, as you know, for years now, without a moment’s respite.” He passed his sleeve across his eyes, as though to brush away a tear. But she felt that this was done chiefly for effect. He was now about twenty-seven, a strong, handsome man, with a fresh healthy complexion which it was difficult to associate with an incurable despair. “These young men,” thought Tamakatsura, “are really becoming insufferable. They are so used to having everything their own way that honors and promotions no longer mean anything to them.” Her own sons, who had no father to get fair play for them, were far indeed from having time to mope about in this way, fretting over trifles. Sakon no Chujo had by his own efforts become Major in the Bodyguard of the Right, and Uchuben was a Senior Adviser in the Executive Department; but neither of them was on the Grand Council, which was miserable. To no Jiju, the youngest, was a senior in the Chamberlain’s Department, which was not bad for his age, but wretched compared with most other people.

So Tamakatsura impatiently reflected, while Kurodo, still in the same strain...

Footnotes

* It is clear from this preamble that “Bamboo River” was written at a time when Murasaki was separated from her manuscript and feared that her memory might play her false.

† Yugao’s child by To no Chujo. Discovered by Genji and treated for a while as his child; afterwards married to Higekuro. The ex-Emperor Ryozen had been in love with her.

‡ Minister of the Right.

* The Akashi Princess.

† As Genji’s adopted daughter Tamakatsura ranked as Yugiri’s half-sister; moreover Kumoi, Yugiri’s wife, was (like Tamakatsura in reality) a daughter of To no Chujo.

* Kaoru.

* He is thinking of Roku no Kimi, his illegitimate child by Koremitsu’s daughter.

† Lady Chujo, daughter of To no Chujo, was Tamakatsura’s half-sister.

‡ The ex-Emperor Suzaku.

* A play on iro “color” and iro “love,” “gaiety.”

† Tamakatsura, having been brought up by Yugao’s woman Ukon in the country, did not see Genji when he was quite young.

* I.e. not in Court dress.

† “Look, to a bough of the plum-tree the nightingale has come….” See Part IV, p. 598.

‡ The modes were divided into two classes, ryo and ritsu, only the latter of which were generally mastered by women, being considered more appropriate to their sex.

§ Who was behind the curtains.

* “Rich is my house that has three roof-beams, like the trefoil that grows three leaves upon one stem…”

† See Part III, p. 478.

‡ A garment used by women and young boys.

§ An undergarment used exclusively by women.

¶ When half their round of visits was over the New Year mummers stopped for refreshments at a building called the Water Stables. One of the songs they sang was Bamboo River, which Kaoru and the rest had now been singing. Kaoru means that he has other calls to pay.

** The syllabic writing used by women.

* I.e. your treating us as a temporary halting-place.

† A brownish tinge is not unknown in Japanese women’s hair.

* The younger sister.

* The robe that Himegimi wore was called a “cherry dress.”

† In allusion to the old poem: “I will dye my dress to the deepest cherry hue, that when the flowers are fallen I may have something to remember them by.”

‡ After the horse races when the “junior side” won a Korean fanfare was played.

* Play of words on utsurou = (l) change ownership, (2) wilt.

† Play of words on migi = (1) the junior side, the right, (2) the margin of a pool or lake.

‡ The little girl has in mind the old poem: “Oh that my sleeve were wide as the great heavens above! Then would the storms of spring no longer at their will destroy the budding flowers.”

§ In sending Himegimi to the ex-Emperor.

¶ The love of parents for children is called Kukoro no yami, “darkness of the heart.”

* Kaoru’s love for Himegimi,

* Offering him the second daughter.

† The beginning of summer.

* Tamakatsura.

† That Tamakatsura should give the younger daughter to Kurodo, as she had vaguely suggested.

‡ Astrologically speaking.

§ Higekuro.

¶ The mad wife, see Part IV, p. 577.

* “Pity.”

† “When I die of love, though death walks daily in the world and is no marvelous thing, what name but yours upon men’s lips will rise?” Poem by Fukayabu, 10th century.

* Himegimi.

† That Himegimi should be sent to the Emperor.

* Was determined by something that happened in a previous incarnation.

† Akikonomu and Lady Chujo.

‡ Lady Chujo was Tamakatsura’s sister, and therefore Himegimi’s aunt.

* Genji’s great friend. Father of Kobai, Tamakatsura, Lady Chujo, etc.

* The tune that the mummers sing when they are about to depart. See Part III, p. 479.

† Kaoru is ironically suggesting that it was not the moonlight, but the presence of Himegimi which confused Kurodo.

* See above, p. 780.

† He had of course only seen her behind her curtains or screen-of-state.

‡ Lady Chujo’s daughter.

* Literally, karma- determined.

† Kurodo’s father.

‡ To become a nun.

* Ryozen, it will be remembered, had always been in love with her.

† Giving Himegimi to Ryozen.

‡ That of Heir Apparent.

§ Lady Chujo’s daughter.

¶ Akikonomu and Lady Chujo.

* Better if she had married Kurodo.

† “Kurodo.

‡ “Surely as if the oracle of Hitachi had spoken it, the oracle that is at the end of the Eastern Road, I know that in the end we shall meet.” The oracle at Kashima in Hitachi Province specialized in advice on love-affairs.

§ In which he practiced handwriting.

* Paid in order to receive congratulations on his promotion.

† Genji’s visits on similar occasions.

* Towards Himegimi.

† See the next chapter.

‡ Kobai.

§ Given by Kobai to his new colleagues.

¶ Kaoru.