any one who is likely to have let out the secret?’ ‘Besides myself and your mother’s maid Ōmyōbu there is no one who has an inkling of the matter,’ the priest hastened to assure him. ‘Nevertheless the existence of such a secret causes me grave misgivings. Upheavals of nature, earthquakes, drought and storm, have become alarmingly frequent; and in the State, we have had constant disorder and unrest. All these things may be due to the existence of this secret. So long as your Majesty was a helpless infant Heaven took pity on your innocence; but now that you are grown to your full stature and have reached years of understanding and discretion, the Powers Above are manifesting their displeasure; for, as you have been taught, it frequently happens that the sins of one generation are visited upon the next. I saw plainly that you did not know to what cause our present troubles and disorders are due, and that is why I at last determined to reveal a secret which I hoped need never pass my lips.’ The old man spoke with difficulty, tears frequently interrupted his discourse, and it was already broad daylight when he finally left the Palace.
No sooner had he realized the full significance of this astonishing revelation than a medley of conflicting thoughts began to harass Ryōzen’s mind. First and foremost, he felt indignant on behalf of the old Emperor, whom he had always been taught to regard as his father; but he also felt strangely uncomfortable at the idea that Genji, who had a much better right to the Throne than he, should have been cast out of the Imperial family, to become a Minister, a mere servant of the State. Viewed from whatever standpoint, the new situation was extremely painful to him, and overcome by shock and bewilderment he lay in his room long after the sun was high. Learning that his Majesty had not risen, Genji assumed that he was indisposed
