among the pious at so critical a moment in her existence. For it is written: “The tongue of the blasphemer shall tremble, his voice shall be silenced,” and it seems that, conversely, the voices of the pious generally tend to become more and more resonant.’
He himself stood somewhat in awe of his daughter Lady Chūjō. He knew that she would wonder what had induced him to import, without further enquiries so incongruous a resident into his household. He imagined, too, the pleasantries at his expense which would be exchanged among her people and soon repeated broadcast over the whole Court. He was on the verge of abandoning the plan, when he suddenly decided that it was too late to withdraw: ‘I wish you would sometimes go out and see your sister Lady Chūjō while she is staying here,’ he said. ‘I fancy she could give you one or two useful hints. It is, after all, only by mixing in the society of those who have had greater advantages than themselves, that ordinary people can hope to make any progress. I want you to bear that in mind when you are with her….’ ‘Well that will be a treat!’ she cried delightedly. ‘I never thought in my wildest dreams that, even if you one day sent for me, you would ever make me into a great lady like my sister. The best I hoped for was that I might wheedle you into letting me carry pitchers from the well….’ The last words were spoken in a tiny, squeaky voice like that of a new-fledged sparrow, for she had suddenly remembered her father’s injunctions. The effect was very absurd; but there was no use in scolding her any more, and he said good-humouredly: ‘I see no reason why you should draw water, or hew wood either. But if I send you to Lady Chūjō, you must promise me that you have made up your mind never again to model yourself on that pious personage from the Myōhō Temple.’ She took this very seriously. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said.
