is withered that once with wide-spread branches sheltered us from the storm, lo! we the underboughs droop earthward in these last moments of the year.’ No very wonderful poem, but at that moment it moved Genji deeply, and noticing that the lake was frozen all over he in his turn recited the poem: ‘Now like a mirror shines the frozen surface of the lake. Alas that it reflects not the form and face we knew so well!’ Such was the thought that came to him at the moment, and he gave it utterance well knowing that the prince would think it forced and crude. Ōmyōbu, Fujitsubo’s gentlewoman, now interposed with the verse: ‘The year draws in; even the water of the rock-hewn well is sealed with ice, and faded from those waters is the face that once I saw.’ Many other poems were exchanged; but I have other things to tell.
Fujitsubo’s return to her mansion was carried out with no less ceremony than on former occasions, but to her mind the transit seemed this time a distressing affair and more like a journey to some strange place than a home-coming; and as she approached the house her thoughts travelled back over all the months and years that had passed since this place had been her real home.
The New Year brought with it none of the usual novelties and excitements. Genji, in very dismal humour, shut himself up in his room. At the time when the new appointments were being made, during the old Emperor’s reign and to an equal extent even after his retirement, Genji’s doors had always been thronged with suitors. But this year the line of horses and carriages waiting outside his palace was thin indeed, and the bags[1] of courtiers were no longer to be seen at all.
When he looked about him and saw his reception halls
- ↑ In which they packed the costumes they wore while on duty at the palace.
