consequence than Murasaki; with the result that those who came to the house felt they would be displeasing him if they did not pay their respects to her as well as to his wife; while stewards and servants saw that she was a person whom it would not be advisable to neglect. Thus everything seemed to be working very smoothly, and Genji felt that the arrangement was going to be a great success.
He thought constantly of the country house at Ōi and of the dull hours which the Lady of Akashi must be passing there at this season of festivity. So soon as the New Year celebrations both at his own house and in the Palace were drawing to a close, he determined to pay her another visit, and with this object in view he put on his finest clothes, wearing under his cherry-coloured cloak a matchless vesture of deep saffron hue, steeped in the perfumes of the scented box where it had lain. Thus clad he went to take his leave of Murasaki, and as he stood in the full rays of the setting sun, his appearance was so magnificent that she gazed at him with even greater admiration than was her wont. The little princess grabbed at the ends of his long wide trousers with her baby hands, as though she did not want him to go. When he reached the door of the women’s apartments she was still clinging to him and he was obliged to halt for a moment in order to disentangle himself. Having at last coaxed her into releasing him, he hurried down the corridor humming to himself as he did so the peasant-song ‘To-morrow I will come again.’[1] At the door he met one of Murasaki’s ladies and by her he sent back just that message, ‘To-morrow I will come again.’ She instantly recognized whence the words came and answered with the poem:
- ↑ ‘Stop your boat, oh cherry-man! I must sow the ten-rood island field. Then I will come again. To-morrow I will come again!’ The lady answers: ‘ To-morrow, forsooth! Those are but words. You keep a girl upon the other side, and to-morrow you will not come, no, not to-morrow will you come.’
