more charming than ever. Sending for his ink-stone Genji now wrote on a practising-slip the poem: ‘Save that both she and I have common cause to mourn, my own is she no more than a false lock worn upon an aged head.’[1] Seeing him sigh heavily and go about muttering to himself, Murasaki knew that his love for Yūgao had been no mere boyish fancy, but an affair that had stirred his nature to its depths.
Yūgiri, having been told that a half-sister (of whose existence he had never heard) was come to live with them in the palace, and that he ought to make friends with her and make her feel at home, at once rushed round to her rooms, saying: ‘I do not count for very much, I know; but since we are brother and sister, I think you might have sent for me before. If only I had known who you were, I would have been so glad to help you to unpack your things. I do think you might have told me….’ ‘Poor young gentleman,’ thought Ukon, who was close at hand; ‘this is really too bad. How long will they let him go on in this style, thinking all the while she is his sister? I don’t think it’s fair….’
The contrast between her present way of life and the days at Tsukushi was staggering. Here every elegance, every convenience appeared as though by magic; there the simplest articles could be procured only by endless contriving, and when found were soiled, dilapidated, out-of-date. Here Prince Genji claimed her as his daughter, Prince Yūgiri as his sister…. ‘Now these,’ thought old Sanjō, ‘really are fine gentlemen. However I came to have such a high opinion of that Lord-Lieutenant I do not know!’ And when she remembered what airs a miserable creature like Tayū had given himself on the Island, she almost expired with indignation.
- ↑ Tamakazura=jewelled wig.
