The Tale of Genji, Page 70

  “The scent of flowers lingers not upon the bough whence they have scattered,

  but may this deeply perfume the sleeves it will soon infuse.”9

  After reading it he made rather a show of humming it again.

  The Consultant Captain found the messenger, detained him, and got him thoroughly drunk. Genji had a set of women's robes laid across his shoulders, together with a long dress of Chinese material in a red plum blossom layering. His reply was on paper of the same color, and he picked a spray of flowers from his tree to tie it to

  “I wonder what can be in that letter,” His Highness said with some spirit. “What secret requires you to conceal it?” He was extremely curious.

  “Yes, what can it be? I am sorry that you should imagine me to have secrets from you.” Genji allowed his brush to answer something like,

  “Your blossoming bough suffuses my heart still more with its sweet perfume,

  though you would suppress a scent others might note on the air.”

  “I admit that all this may seem rather frivolous,” he said, “but she is my only daughter, and I believe it is the right thing to do. It would be awkward to ask anyone but a relative,10 since she is nothing to look at, and I thought that I might invite Her Majesty here from the palace. I am very close to her, but her dignity is so thoroughly daunting that I would not dare expose her to anything common.”

  “Yes, of course,” His Highness agreed, “and you must consider, too, that she is someone whose good fortune deserves to be emulated.”

  Genji took the occasion to send to each of his ladies for the incenses they had been blending, saying that he meant to try them all in the dampness of the evening.11 They complied and presented them in many delightful ways. “Please rank these. To whom else would I show them?”12 Genji said. He sent for a censer and insisted that His Highness test them.

  “It is not I who know!” His Highness modestly replied, but he established fine distinctions of quality between them, even ones of the same kind, and so managed after all to decide which was better than which. At last Genji had the two he had blended himself brought forth. Just as at the palace incense is buried by the stream that runs past the Right Guards' quarters, he had buried his beside the one that flowed from beneath his west bridgeway. The Aide of the Watch, a son of the Consultant Koremitsu, dug it up, and the Consultant Captain took it and conveyed it to Genji.

  “What a task you set your unhappy judge! My mind is all smoke!” One would have expected the same blending method to have passed on to them all, but no, each had gone about it as she pleased, and it was a thoroughly delightful business to rank the depth or shallowness of the achievement.

  Among the many that resisted ranking, the former Kamo Priestess's kurobō nonetheless13 had a wonderfully soothing quality that made it special. As to the jijū14 His Highness decided that Genji's own had a fragrance of particular sweetness and grace. She who reigned over Genji's southeast quarter had provided three incenses, of which the baika was novel and brilliant, with a keen, personal touch that gave it rare quality. “There could be no finer fragrances than these to send off on the season's breezes,” His Highness remarked in praise. The lady of the summer quarter had not wished to put herself forward among the others in the competition, and she quailed even to think of smoke from incense of hers rising in such company. She had therefore compounded only one, a kayō.15 It was unusual, and the fragrance was tranquil and touchingly gentle. The lady in the winter quarter, who had disliked the idea of being bested in the seasonal fragrances, had hit upon a wonderful blend of clothing incense passed on by His Late Eminence Suzaku16 to His Majesty and made according to the “hundred paces” method specially selected by Lord Kintada.17 The superlative grace gathered into it bore witness to superior conception. His Highness acknowledged merit in them all, which prompted Genji to remark, “You do not seem to be much of a judge, do you!”

  When the moon came out, they drank wine and discussed the old days. The misty moonlight was enchanting, a little breeze blew after the recent rain, and with the blossoms' delicious scent ineffably filling the air around them, they fell into a very tender mood.

  In the staff office, people were stringing instruments to rehearse tomorrow's music, and with so many privy gentlemen about, flutes could be heard playing prettily here and there. His Excellency's sons, the Secretary Captain and the Controller Lieutenant, had come from the palace to look in, just for form's sake, but Genji detained them and called for several stringed instruments. His Highness got a biwa, Genji a sō no koto, and the Secretary Captain a wagon, on which they played spirited music to delightful effect. The Consultant Captain's flute sent the mode, one perfect for the season, resounding throughout the heavens. The Controller Lieutenant beat the rhythm, and “The Plum Tree Branch”18 as he sang it was quite lovely. He was the one who had sung “Takasago” as a page, that time when the gentlemen assembled to guess rhymes. His Highness and Genji both joined in, and the very informality of the occasion gave the evening's music a special charm.

  His Highness offered Genji the cup and said,

  “Ah, this heart of mine could rise forever higher on the warbler's song,

  now these delicious blossoms so pervade it with their charm—

  and for a thousand years, I am sure.”19

  Genji replied,

  “I would have you come this spring to this home of mine where such flowers bloom,

  till their color and their scent make themselves wholly your own!”

  He passed the cup to the Secretary Captain, who then offered it to the Consultant Captain.

  “Play on, O play on many a sweet melody night-long on your flute,

  till the sleeping warbler sways where he perches on the bough!”

  The Consultant Captain answered,

  “When the very breeze seems resolved with tactful stealth to avoid this tree,

  would you really have me play till the bird must simply leave?

  You are too unkind!”

  Everyone laughed. The Controller Lieutenant:

  “As long as no mist drifts between the moon aloft and the blossoms here,

  surely the bird on his perch will still lift his voice in song.”20

  His Highness did not leave until it was really dawn. By way of gifts, Genji had him board his carriage with a dress cloak and a full set of robes of his own, and two jars of incense that he had left unopened.

  “With such sweet perfume wafting from such lovely sleeves, my darling at home

  may well have a word to say to reprove my sinful ways!”

  His Highness said.

  “What a timid husband!” Genji laughed and followed him while the ox was being yoked.

  “Your darling at home will look on you when you come with astonishment,

  to see you superbly dressed in a brocade of blossoms!

  You will make quite a spectacle!” he said, and His Highness grudgingly conceded defeat. Without further ado Genji laid long dresses or gowns across the other young gentlemen's shoulders.

  He reached the southwest quarter at the hour of the Dog.21 The west wing, where Her Majesty lived, had been done up for the event, and a senior gentle-woman from Her Majesty's staff, charged with putting up the young lady's hair, was already there. On this occasion the lady of Genji's southeast quarter came, too, to meet Her Majesty. The crowd of gentlewomen from the several quarters of Rokujō seemed beyond counting.

  The young lady donned her train at the hour of the Rat.22 The lamps were low, but Her Majesty found what she gathered of her presence extremely pleasing.

  “My confidence that you would not abandon her encouraged me to bring her before you in this impertinent guise,”23 Genji said. “A fond father's private hope is that this may set an example for generations to come.”24

  “The grandeur you gave the event was actually quite intimidating, since I had no idea how to do it properly,” Her Majesty answered modestly, exuding youthful charm. With these perfectly delightful presences t
hus gathered around him, Genji took great pleasure in the harmony that reigned between them. The young lady's mother grieved bitterly that she was not to see her daughter even then, and Genji had compassionately considered inviting her after all, but fear of what people might then have to say had discouraged him from doing so.

  Ceremonies like this involve a great deal of troublesome detail, even when done in the ordinary way, and I have recorded none of it because a rambling account of only one part might do more harm than good.

  The Heir Apparent's donning of the trousers came after the twentieth of the month. His Highness was very grown-up, and people were all set to rush to offer him their daughters, but Genji's intentions were so obvious that the Minister of the Left and so on refrained on the grounds that they might only regret it if they did.

  “That is extremely unfortunate. Surely the very essence of palace service is striving to rise a little above the rest. Life will be very dull if all these excellent girls are to remain shut up at home,” Genji remarked when he heard about it, and he put off his daughter's move. The other interested parties had not wished simply to troop in after her, and when they heard of his decision, the Minister of the Left's third daughter did go. She was known as Reikeiden.

  Genji redid the Kiritsubo, once his own palace apartment, for his daughter, and he decided on the fourth month because His Highness did not like the idea of having her arrival postponed. He improved the furnishings, gave the designs for the accessories and the sketches for the paintings his personal attention, gathered the very finest craftsmen to execute them, and had everything brought to a high degree of polish. To fill her book chest he chose books25 that could serve her straight off as calligraphy models. They contained a great many examples that had made the best masters of the past famous in later generations.

  “Everything is on the decline, compared to the old days,” Genji confided to his love, “and this latter age of ours has lost all depth, but at least kana writing is superb now. The old writing certainly looks consistent, but it conveys no breadth or generosity and seems always to follow the same pattern. It is only later on that people began writing a truly fascinating hand, but among the many simple models that I collected when I myself was so keen on cultivating the ‘woman's style,'26 a line quickly dashed off by the Haven, Her Majesty's mother—one she meant nothing by and that I acquired—struck me as particularly remarkable. Yes, in the end I am afraid I brought her name unfairly into disrepute. I really did not mean it, but it hurt her very deeply. She understood many things, and perhaps now that she is gone, her spirit has considered all I have done for Her Majesty and pardoned me. Her Majesty's own writing has accomplished charm, but,” he whispered, “it may lack a certain spark. Her Late Eminence's27 writing showed great depth and grace, but there was something weak about it, too, and it had little flair. His Emi-nence's Mistress of Staff28 is the one who stands out in our time, although hers has too many tricks and flourishes. Still,” he concluded generously, “she, the former Kamo Priestess, and you yourself are the ones who really and truly write.”

  Reed writing

  “Surely I do not belong in such company!”

  “Do not be too modest! For warmth and sweetness, you know, there is no one like you. The better one is at characters, the more likely it is that inept kana will creep into one's writing.” He also made up some blank books with exquisite covers and cords. “I must have His Highness of War and the Intendant of the Left Gate Guards29 do some, too, and I shall do a pair myself. Those two may fancy themselves, but I am sure I can keep up with them.” He thought highly of himself as well.

  He selected the finest brushes and ink and sent urgent requests to the usual ladies, disconcerting them so greatly that some declined more than once, at which he only redoubled his entreaties. He had some extremely pretty Koma paper, very thin, and to test “our young gallants” he sent some to the Consultant Captain, to the Intendant of the Watch, His Highness of Ceremonial's son, and to the Palace Minister's son, the Secretary Captain, with the order to do whatever reed writing30 or poem pictures31 they pleased.

  He went off to the main house as before to do his writing. The cherry blossoms were over, the sky was a tranquil blue, and he wrote out the old poems as he pleased, just as they came to him, in astonishing numbers, some in running script, some in plain, and some in the woman's style.32 He had few gentlewomen with him, just two or three to grind his ink—women worth talking to when weighing one poem or another from some old and noble collection. All the blinds were up, and lost in thought that way near the veranda, with the book on an armrest before him and the tip of the brush in his mouth, he made a sight too marvelous for one ever to tire of watching. For anyone with a discerning eye it was a wonder simply to see the way he addressed himself to the sharply contrasting red or white of the paper, adjusted his hold on the brush, and applied himself to the task.

  When His Highness of War was announced, the startled Genji straightened his dress cloak, ordered another cushion set out for his visitor, and had him brought straight in. His Highness grandly mounted the steps, looking splendid himself, while the women peeped at him from within. The grave formality with which they greeted each other was also admirable. “I have been shut up here with little to do,” Genji began cheerfully, “and the quiet was beginning to weary me. You have come at just the right time!”

  His Highness had brought his own finished book, and Genji immediately looked through it. His visitor's hand was not inspiring, but it was his little accomplishment, and he had written very cleanly indeed. The poems he had chosen from the old anthologies were distinctly unusual ones, and he had given them just three lines each, with pleasantly few Chinese characters. Genji was surprised. “I never imagined such wonders from you!” he exclaimed ruefully. “I shall have to throw all my brushes away!”

  “I thought I might as well do my best, as long as I was shamelessly to introduce my writing into such company,” His Highness lightly replied.

  Genji could not very well hide the books he had been filling, so he took them out. They examined them together. His running script on stiff Chinese paper struck His Highness as a miracle, while his quiet, perfectly self-possessed woman's style on soft, fine-grained Koma paper, lovely yet unassertive in color, was beyond anything. His Highness felt his tears gathering to join the flow of these supple lines that he knew would never pall, and the poems in expansively free running script, on magnificently colored papers from Japan's own court workshop, gave endless pleasure. The rich and varied charm of these things so captivated His Highness that he never even glanced at anyone else's.

  In what he had done the Intendant of the Left Gate Guards had consistently sought the ostentatiously clever line, but one felt something murky in the movement of his brush, and one detected, too, an attempt on his part to hide it. His choice of poems was somewhat arch.

  Genji gave his visitor no real look at the ladies' work; in fact, he did not take out the Kamo Priestess's at all.

  The books of reed writing, each different in its way, were sheer delight. In the Consultant Captain's the water was powerfully drawn, the reeds' lively growth recalled the shore at Naniwa, and the intermingling of the two showed great poise. There were also pages on which with fresh inventiveness he had tried a quite different style and done full justice to the letters, the placing of the rocks, and so on. “It is dazzling,” His Highness said with keen appreciation. “It must have taken him ages to do.” He who so loved fine things and cultivated such elegance was extremely impressed.

  They spent the rest of the day talking about calligraphy, and when Genji brought out a selection of poetry scrolls pieced together from different papers,33 His Highness sent his son, the Adviser, back to his residence for some of his own. There were four scrolls of the Man'yōshū, chosen and written by Emperor Saga,34 and a Kokin wakashū by His Engi Majesty35 on lengths of light blue Chinese paper pasted together, with a mounting paper strongly patterned in darker blue, rollers of dark green jade, and fla
t cords woven in a Chinese ripple pattern, all to lovely effect. His Engi Majesty had wielded marvelous skill to change his hand for each Kokin wakashū scroll, and they brought a lamp close to examine them. “They never disappoint one, do they,” Genji remarked in praise. “People now can manage only a contrived approximation.”

  His Highness presented them to Genji on the spot. “Even if I had a daughter, I would not want them to go to someone who hardly knew what to see in them, and as it is, they would just go to waste,” he said.

  Genji put some Chinese calligraphy scrolls in a very nice aloeswood box for the Adviser, and he added a beautiful Koma flute.

  Genji also immersed himself then in connoisseurship of kana writing, and he sought out everyone at all known for that skill—high, middle, or low—so as to have each write out whatever might be most congenial. He placed nothing of base origin in his daughter's book box, and he carefully distinguished the rank of each writer when he asked for a book or a scroll. Among all her wondrous treasures, some unknown even in the realm across the sea, it was these books that most aroused young people's interest. He also prepared a collection of paintings for her. He wanted to see his Suma diary go to her and her descendants, but he did not take it out now, having decided not to do so until she knew a little more of the world.

  News of these preparations reached His Excellency the Palace Minister from afar and left him at once intensely worried and bitterly disappointed. His daughter was now in full flower and too pretty to waste. He hated to see her bored and dispirited, but that young man of hers remained as serene as ever, and he would look silly if he meekly approached him himself. No, he groaned, if only I had let myself be persuaded when he was so obviously keen on her! He could not blame just the young man. The Consultant Captain heard that he had softened his attitude some-what, but he was still so angry about the rude way he had once been treated that he pretended not to care, and although he often felt in no mood for laughter, since in fact he had no interest in anyone else, her nurse's gibes about that light blue of his only confirmed his resolve to have them see him rise to Counselor first.