Chapter III: The Maiden (3)

The various quarters of which the New Palace was composed were joined by numerous alleys and covered ways, so that access from one to another was easy, and no one felt that she had been bundled away into a corner. When the ninth month came and the autumn leaves began to be at their best, the splendours of Akikonomu’s new garden were at last revealed, and indeed the sights upon which her windows looked were indescribably lovely. One evening when the crimson carpet was ruffled by a gusty wind, she filled a little box with red leaves from different trees and sent it to Murasaki. As messenger she chose one of the little girls who waited upon her. The child, a well grown, confident little thing, came tripping across the humped wooden bridge that led from the Empress’s apartments with the utmost unconcern. Pleased though Murasaki was to receive this prompt mark of friendship, she could for a while do nothing but gaze with delight at the messenger’s appearance, and she quite forgot to be resentful, as some in her place would have been, that an older and more dignified messenger had not been entrusted with the Empress’s gift. The child wore a silk shirt, yellow outside and lined with green. Her mantle was of brown gauze. She was used to running about on messages in the Palace, had that absolute faultlessness of turn-out and bearing which seems never to be found elsewhere, and was far from being overawed at finding herself in the presence of such a person as Lady Murasaki. Attached to the box was the poem: ‘Though yours be a garden where only Spring-time is of price, suffer it that from my house Autumn should blow a crimson leaf into your hand.’ It was amusing to see how while Murasaki read the missive, her ladies crowded round the little messenger and plied her with refreshments and caresses. For answer, Murasaki placed in the lid of the box a carpet of moss and on it laid a very little toy rock. Then she wrote on a strip of paper tied to a sprig of five-pointed pine: ‘The light leaf scatters in the wind, and of the vaunted spring no tinge is left us, save where the pine-tree grips its ledge of stone.’

The Empress thought at first that it was a real pine-branch. But when she looked closer she saw that, like the rock, it was a work of art—as delicate and ingenious a piece of craftsmanship as she had ever encountered. The readiness of Murasaki’s answer and the tact with which, while not exalting her own favourite season above that of Akikonomu’s choice, she had yet found a symbol to save her from tame surrender, pleased the Empress and was greeted as a happy stroke by all the ladies who were with her. But Genji when she showed it to him pretended to think the reply very impertinent, and to tease Murasaki he said to her afterwards: ‘I think you received these leaves most ungraciously. At another season one might venture perhaps upon such disparagement; but to do so now that the Goddess of Tatsuta[94] holds us all in sway seems almost seditious. You should have bided your time; for only from behind the shelter of blossoming boughs could such a judgment be uttered with impunity.’ So he spoke; but he was in reality delighted to find these marks of interest and good will being exchanged between the various occupants of his house, and he felt that the new arrangement was certain to prove a great success.

When the Lady of Akashi heard of the removal to the New Palace and was told that only her own quarters, as spacious and handsome as any of the rest, now remained untenanted, she determined at last to hold aloof no longer. It was the Godless month when she arrived. She looked around her and, mistrustful though she was, she certainly could see no sign here that as regards either elegance or comfort she would be expected to put up with less than her neighbours. And indeed Genji saw to it that on all occasions she should rank in the eyes of the household rather as mother of the little Princess for whom so brilliant a future was in store, than as the scion of a poor and undistinguished provincial family.

[55] Genji is now 33.

[56] In the 4th month.

[57] The laurel and the hollyhock form the garlands worn by
worshippers at this festival.

[58] Her mourning was of dark blue wistaria-colour.

[59] Her period of mourning is almost over. There is a play of
words; _fuji_ = wistaria, and _fuchi_ = pool.

[60] The presents of gay clothing which are customarily made to a
person who has just emerged from a period of mourning.

[61] The professors speak in a mixture of antiquated Japanese and
classical Chinese the effect of which I do not attempt to
reproduce.

[62] See my _Nō Plays_, p. 15 seq.

[63] In eight lines.

[64] Like Chʻe Yün and Sun Kʻang, two Chinese scholars who had not
money enough to buy candles (4th century A.D.).

[65], [66] By Ssu-ma Chʻien, 1st century B.C., a book somewhat
longer than Gibbon’s _Decline and Fall_; by far the most
distinguished Chinese historical work.

[67] The eldest daughter of Tō no Chūjō.

[68] Murasaki’s father, who was anxious to place his younger
daughter at Court.

[69] See vol. ii, p. 86. The rhyme-words at the end of the verses
were covered and the competitors had to guess them.

[70] His first wife was a daughter of the Minister of the Right.

[71] Akikonomu.

[72] Kumoi.

[73] The ex-Emperor Suzaku’s little son.

[74] Using ‘major’ and ‘minor’ as translations of _Yō_ and _In_. The
six strings were tuned to the 1st, 5th, 9th, and 3rd, 7th,
11th, semitones of the diatonic scale.

[75] ‘Some such sorrow as mine they too must know, the wild-geese
that with sorrowful cry trail through the country of the
clouds.’

[76] A sister of Kōkiden.

[77] Of Akikonomu as Empress.

[78] Kumoi’s mother.

[79] With Fujitsubo, his father’s concubine.

[80] There is a legend which tells how certain dancing-maidens took
the fancy of the gods and were snatched up to the sky.

[81] Koremitsu’s daughter.

[82] See vol. ii, pp. 96 and 129.

[83] 804–872 A.D.

[84] See vol. i, p. 239 seq.

[85] Allusion to the death of the old Emperor, Genji’s and Suzaku’s
father.

[86] The song and dance ‘Warbling of the Spring Nightingales’ are
attributed to the mythical Chinese Emperor Yao, 3rd millennium
B.C.

[87] See above, p. 45.

[88] A _machi_ is 119 yards.

[89] The points of the compass indicated by these animal
designations are, successively S.W., S.E., N.E., N.W. Houses
were planned with reference to Chinese astrological
conceptions.

[90] Used for residence during the Kamo Festival.

[91] Plucked on the 5th day of the 5th month.

[92] _Quercus dentata_.

[93] Lasts for a week, centring round the autumnal equinox. The
Further Shore is Nirvāna, to which Buddha carries us in the
Ship of Salvation. The festival is peculiar to Japan.

[94] Goddess of the autumn; here compared to Akikonomu. The
secondary meaning is ‘You must be more civil to Akikonomu now
that she is Empress.’