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The Tale of Genji, Page 67

Murasaki Shikibu

  PERSONS

  His Grace, the Chancellor, Genji, age 37 to 38

  The Mistress of Staff, 23 to 24 (Tamakazura)

  The Commander of the Right, early 30s (Higekuro)

  His Excellency, the Palace Minister (Tō no Chūjō)

  His Majesty, the Emperor, 19 to 20 (Reizei)

  His Highness of War, Genji's brother (Hotaru Hyōbukyō no Miya)

  The Intendant of the Watch, Murasaki's half brother

  His sister, Higekuro's first wife, mid-30s (Higekuro no Kita no Kata)

  His Highness of Ceremonial, the father of Higekuro's first wife, 52 to 53 (Shikibukyō no Miya)

  Chūjō a gentlewoman of Higekuro's first wife

  Moku, in the service of Higekuro

  Higekuro's daughter, early teens (Makibashira)

  His Highness of Ceremonial's wife

  The lady of spring, Lady Murasaki, 29 to 30

  The Consultant Captain, Genji's son, 16 to 17 (Yūgiri)

  The Secretary Captain, Tō no Chūjō's eldest son, early 20s (Kashiwagi)

  The girl from Ōmi, Tō no Chūjō's daughter (Ōmi no Kimi)

  Ishould not like His Majesty to hear of this. You had better keep it to yourself for the time being,” Genji warned, but the gentleman1 was beyond self-restraint. There was no sign that the passage of time had at all inclined her to accept him, for she remained as disheartened as ever by such evidence of her disastrous karma, which certainly made him very angry, but he was also moved and happy to find his bond with her so strong. The more he saw of her, the more marvelous he found her, and his heart almost failed him at the very idea that he might have lost her to someone else, until he felt like worshipping both the Kannon of Ishiyama and the gentle-woman Ben, to whom her mistress had meanwhile taken a dislike so profound that she was barred from her mistress's presence and remained confined at home. After all those agonies suffered by so many suitors, it was one without interest who had received the boon.

  Genji, too, was annoyed and disappointed, but it was too late now, and he held the ceremony2 in grand style, judging that with both parties3 otherwise in agreement it would be out of place, and unhelpful to her, for him to show signs of withholding consent.

  The Commander could hardly wait to bring her to his residence, but Genji appealed to consideration for the feelings of another lady who, he gathered, might not necessarily be pleased to receive her there if she were to move abruptly and without adequate deliberation. “Please,” he urged him, “maintain your composure and behave with sufficiently calm discretion to avoid incurring anyone's condemnation or hatred.”

  His Excellency her father observed privately, “She is much better off this way. I was especially worried that anyone who went into mildly amorous palace service without full backing4 might regret it. I want the best for her, but quite apart from the matter of the Consort, what could I really have done?” It was perfectly true that serving even His Majesty would have been a mistake if she had been scorned, or if

  Going to a shrine festival

  he had seldom had time for her or had shown her no regard. Reports of the poems exchanged by Genji and the new husband on the third night aroused in His Excellency the warmest and most admiring gratitude for Genji's kindness.

  Despite the secret character of the marriage people naturally loved to talk about it, and as the news got about, it set everyone whispering happily. His Majesty heard it, too. “It is disappointing that her destiny lay elsewhere,” he said, “but I had my hopes. As to her service here, though, surely she would wish to renounce it only if it were to be somewhat personal in nature.”

  The eleventh month came, and with it many rites in honor of the gods.5 Those who served in the Hall of the Sacred Mirror had a great deal to do, but to her disgust the Commander remained surreptitiously closeted with her even during the day, through all the busy commotion, while women officials came constantly to see the Mistress of Staff. His Highness6 and the others were still more put out. The Intendant of the Watch objected to his sister, the Commander's wife, being exposed to public ridicule, and he repeatedly considered doing something about it, but he thought better of the idea in the end because by now no foolish maneuver of his could have helped. The Commander, once widely known for his stalwart ways, was no longer the man who never erred, for now, to everyone's great amusement, his infatuation drove him to steal gallantly in and out every night and every dawn, like any lover, in a manner quite foreign to what he had once been.

  His new wife lost her normally lively cheerfulness and sank into profound gloom, and although what had happened was obviously not her doing, she felt such shame and regret whenever she wondered what Geniji might be thinking of her, or when she remembered all His Highness's tact and kindness, that her manner never failed to betray her unhappiness.

  Now that Genji had cleared himself of suspicions injurious to her, he looked back over his past and assured himself that he had really never cared for anything sudden or strange. “You doubted me, didn't you!” he said to Lady Murasaki. Still, he had known full well where that quirk of his might lead him, and when sorely tempted he had still decided just to act. He was thinking of her even now.

  He called on her near midday, in the Commander's absence. Her strangely prolonged indisposition had left her continually listless and depressed, but she rose after all when he arrived and took shelter behind a standing curtain. He himself was sober and somewhat formal in manner, and he confined his conversation to banalities. Accustomed by now to commonplace, genteel company, she felt more keenly than ever both the ineffable quality of his presence and the surprise of her own embarrassing situation, and she wept. By and by the topic shifted to more personal matters, and Genji, leaning on a nearby armrest, peeped at her a little, while he continued their talk. She was very pretty indeed, and what with the new dignity and charm of her somewhat more slender features, he rued the folly of having let her go to anyone else.

  “I who never drank all I craved of your waters withheld the promise

  to let you with another cross the River of the Fords.7

  I can hardly believe it!” He blew his nose with touching grace.

  She hid her face to reply,

  “If only somehow, before my time comes to cross the River of Three Fords,

  I might melt away like foam on a flowing stream of tears!”

  “A child's wish! They say that crossing is one we must all make, and I so want at least to hold your hand to help you!” He smiled and went on, “Seriously, though, there is something you yourself must recognize. Surely you will grant me that foolishness like mine and security like yours have never been known in this world before.”

  His words distressed her so much that he took pity on her and turned the conversation elsewhere. “What His Majesty has had to say about all this makes me very sorry, and I should like to see you go at least for a time to the palace. I expect that it will be difficult for you to be with His Majesty once he has made you entirely his own. This is not what I first had in mind, but since His Excellency is pleased, I feel all is well.” He spoke intently and at length. Much of what he had to say moved and embarrassed her, but she only wept. Her evident misery so troubled him that he never took the liberties he had been contemplating; instead he just instructed her on how to feel and behave. He gave no sign of being willing to let her move directly to the Commander's.

  The Commander did not at all like the idea of her going to the palace, but he agreed nonetheless that she might do so briefly, because it occurred to him that from there he could bring her straight home. Being ill at ease with this unfamiliar business of stealthy visits, he did up his house and set about renewing in all sorts of ways a place that for years now had been going to rack and ruin. He gave never a thought to his wife's likely distress, never a glance to the children he had loved, because while a kinder, more sensitive man would have understood what might cover another with shame, his inflexible single-mindedness all too often gave offense.

  His wife could certainly not properly be placed below anyone else. As the much-loved daughter of His Most Esteemed Highness her father, she enjoyed in principle no light consideration in the world at large, and she had looks as well; but she was afflicted by a spirit so strangely persistent that for years now she had ceased to be like other people, and the frequency of those times when she was not herself had long estranged him from her, although he still gave her the supreme regard that was her due. Meanwhile, he was naturally more and more impressed and delighted not only by the extraordinary beauty of the lady to whom his heart had now so strikingly shifted, but by the way she had even managed to dispel the suspicions that people had been entertaining about her.

  His Highness of Ceremonial heard of these goings-on. “The gossip will be intolerable if he brings this bright young thing of his home and then relegates my daughter ignominiously to a corner,” he said. “As long as I am still alive, she can at least escape the ridicule with which he threatens her.” He had the east wing of his residence done up and announced his intention to move her, but although she would then be with him, the proper course of her life was already set, and it troubled him to think of taking her back again. In the meantime her wits wandered ever further, and illness confined her to her bed. By nature she was sweet, quiet, and childishly meek, but at times, when in one of her states, she would blurt out very unpleasant things indeed.

  The miserably run-down condition of the Commander's residence and his wife's unlovely, painfully sequestered mode of life compared distressingly with this new lady's splendor, but the Commander's long devotion to his wife had not really changed, and in his heart he felt affectionate pity for her. “They say a touch of forbearance is what sees a wellborn lady through any affair of her husband's, fleeting though it may be,” he observed. “It has been difficult, you see, to bring up what I have to tell you when you have been so ill. Have I not always promised to keep faith with you? I made up my mind ages ago to stand by you through your infirmity, so please do not turn against me out of unwillingness to respond in kind. There are the children, too, and I keep telling you that for their sake as well I have no intention of neglecting you; yet in the confusion of a woman's mind you persist in being angry with me. I can understand that you should feel this way as long as you have not yet seen how truly I mean what I say, but I hope that you will give me the benefit of the doubt and be patient a little longer. His Highness has heard about all this, and he has taken a dislike to me because of it, and now he is saying all at once, just like that, that he wants to take you back. That is really a very foolish idea, though. Is he serious, I wonder, or does he just want to give me a warning?” To her intense annoyance and disgust, he smiled.

  Even Chūjō, and also Moku8 whose intimate service made her more or less a concubine, were as shocked and angry as any such women could be, and since the lady herself was then in her right mind, she sat and shed pathetic tears. “I do not wonder that you should shame me by calling me odd or perverse, but it is painful to think that my father may hear of it and that my misfortune should, as I gather, discredit my family as well. For myself, I am used to it by now, and I hardly think about it anymore.” There was something sweet about her, with her back to him like that. Slight as she was already, her relentless illness had made her pinched and frail, while her beautifully long hair, which she seldom combed, had fallen out as though thinned. Her huddled, weeping figure made a pathetic sight. Lacking any notable beauty of her own, she nonetheless preserved her father's grace, but in so pitifully changed a condition how could she have had any real appeal?

  “I certainly am not suggesting any reflection on His Highness! You must not say such terrible things!” The Commander tried to calm her. “The place where I am going now, though, is overpoweringly splendid, and my solemn visits there make me feel so awkward that I am certain all eyes are on me; I prefer the comfort of bringing her here. I need hardly remind you of the supreme honor that His Grace the Chancellor enjoys. It would be extremely unfortunate if any unpleasant rumor were to reach a gentleman of such penetrating understanding. Please get on well with her and see that things go smoothly between you. I shall never forget you, even if you move to His Highness's, and whatever happens, my devotion to you will not fail, but it would be damaging to me as well if people began laughing at us, and I hope that you will see your way to joining me in our continuing support for each other.”

  “Your cruelty does not concern me,” she replied. “I believe it is my strange misfortune that troubles His Highness and that inflicts upon him the misery of now seeing me become a laughingstock, and I am so sorry that I wonder how I shall ever face him. It is hardly as though His Grace's wife were a complete stranger either. That she, who grew up outside the family, should now play the mother's part this way, at this late date, is so unkind that His Highness dwells on the matter in thought and word, although for myself the matter hardly interests me either way. I watch only to see what you will do.”

  “I grant all you say, but these episodes of yours make it likely that there are more painful incidents to come. His Grace's wife has nothing to do with this—she lives the life of a sheltered daughter, and I doubt that she knows anything about anyone so little regarded. She does not at all play the mother as far as I know; on the contrary. I should be very sorry if talk like that were to reach her.” He spent the day in conversation with her.

  Once the sun had set, his mood lightened and he longed to get away, but thick snow was falling. He would make a painful spectacle if he were to insist on leaving in such weather. An angry flare-up from her would only give him a chance to blaze back; but no, her calm, unruffled manner drove him to such distraction that he hardly knew what to do, and he just sat near the veranda with the shutters still up, gazing out.

  Censer frame

  His wife noted his looks. “How will you get through this awful snow? It is very late, I believe,” she said encouragingly. She was thinking, This is the end, it is no use my trying to keep him; and her face showed the great sorrow of this knowledge.

  “How could I go, in this?” But then, “Just for a little while, though… I do not like to stay away, you know, because I worry about what His Grace and His Excellency may think when they hear tales told them by people who fail to understand my feelings. Please remain calm and bear with me. Everything will be much easier once I have brought her here. When you are yourself like this, I lose any wish to divide my affections, and I think of you fondly.”

  “Even if you did stay, you would do so against your wishes,” she answered quietly, “and that would make things all the more painful. I know the ice will melt from my sleeves if only you will remember me when you are away.”9

  She called for a censer and had his clothes given a further touch of perfume. Casually dressed in worn, limp robes, she looked weaker and more wasted than ever. It was agony to witness her despair. Her eyes, sadly swollen from weeping, put him off a little, but as he considered her with his present sympathy, he had no wish to blame her. At least I held out this long! I am fickle, though, to have completely lost my heart to someone else! he said to himself over and over again. Meanwhile, keen and eager amid his feigned sighs, he continued dressing. Then he drew a little censer near to put it in his sleeves and scent them. Genji's incomparable radiance certainly overshadowed him, but his looks in these pleasantly soft robes had a superb manliness that placed him visibly above the common run of courtiers and that could daunt anyone looking on.

  “The snow has let up a bit!”

  “It must be late!” Voices from the household office encouraged him discreetly to be on his way. His men were clearing their throats.

  “My poor lady!” Chūjō and Moku sighed as they lay chatting together. Their mistress herself was reclining very sweetly and with perfect composure on an armrest when suddenly she arose, took the censer from beneath a large frame, came up behind her husband, and emptied it over him. No one even had time to cry out. He froze in horror. The fine ash in his eyes and nose confused and blinded him. He brushed and slapped at it, but it was everywhere and he had to take off all his clothes. Her women would have had enough and would never have even looked at her again if they had thought she was in her right mind when she did it, but instead they pityingly took this as one more attempt by that spirit to turn her husband against her. They rushed to provide him with fresh clothes, but the copious ash had floated up into his sidelocks, too, and it seemed to have got into everything so thoroughly that he could not possibly have called in this state on someone whose dwelling was always immaculate. Deranged or not, she had never behaved so outlandishly before. He snapped his fingers and felt all his sympathy for her vanish. Instead revulsion overcame him, but he controlled himself because a scandal now might be disastrous. Although it was the middle of the night, he summoned monks to offer up noisy prayers. One can hardly blame him for finding her cries and babble repellent.

  Subduing an evil spirit

  All night long, until dawn came at last, she was smacked and tugged about, weeping meanwhile with wild abandon, and during a brief lull he dispatched a note. “Yesterday evening someone here was very close to death,” he wrote primly, “and what with the added difficulty of going out into all that snow, I hesitated to venture forth. I was cold through and through.10 Quite apart from you, I wonder what other people will make of all this.

  My poor heart as well whirled aloft into the sky's confusion of snow,11

  while below I slept forlorn, all alone on frozen sleeves.

  It was too hard!” His note was on thin white paper and imposingly written, but nothing about it particularly caught the eye. The hand was very fine. He actually had a great deal of learning. The Mistress of Staff, to whom his absence for a night meant nothing, ignored his earnest concern and did not even answer. He was crushed and spent the day in gloom.