still capable of attending to them, and he constantly summoned Genji to the Palace to consult him upon the most confidential affairs of policy and state. In doing so he was but following his real inclination; this was very well understood in the country and the public at large was delighted to see the Emperor once more asserting himself.
As the time drew near when he intended to renounce the Throne, the Emperor became increasingly concerned with regard to the effect that this step would have upon Lady Oborozuki’s career. ‘My poor grand-father, the late Chief Minister, is gone,’ he said to her one day; ‘and it does not look as though my mother[1] would be with us much longer. I myself have no intention of remaining on the Throne. I am afraid you will be left in a most tiresome position. I know that there is some one whom you have always liked better than me. But I do not think anyone could possibly be more attached to you than I am, and it distresses me continually to think what will become of you when I am gone. Even if your former friend is willing to look after you again, however kind he is to you, I am quite certain he will take far less trouble about you than I do.’ The colour rushed to her cheeks and her eyes filled with tears. He saw that he had wounded her and, moved to sudden pity by the spectacle of her humiliation and remorse, he forgot all her misdeeds and continued in a gentler tone: ‘What a pity that we have never had any children! I am sure you and he will have some later on, and it will be a pity that they are his and not mine, because they will only be commoners, you know.’ He went on for some while discussing what would happen after he was dead, her distress and remorse increasing at every word. Her charm was such that, despite his jealousy, the Emperor had grown steadily more attached
- ↑ Lady Kōkiden.
