Japanese Literature | Page 5

constant, and this was probably the reason why her health
was at last so much affected, that she was often compelled to absent
herself from Court, and to retire to the residence of her mother.
Her father, who was a Dainagon,[4] was dead; but her mother, being a
woman of good sense, gave her every possible guidance in the due
performance of Court ceremony, so that in this respect she seemed but
little different from those whose fathers and mothers were still alive to
bring them before public notice, yet, nevertheless, her friendliness
made her oftentimes feel very diffident from the want of any patron of
influence.
These circumstances, however, only tended to make the favor shown to
her by the Emperor wax warmer and warmer, and it was even shown to
such an extent as to become a warning to after-generations. There had
been instances in China in which favoritism such as this had caused
national disturbance and disaster; and thus the matter became a subject
of public animadversion, and it seemed not improbable that people
would begin to allude even to the example of Yô-ki-hi.[5]
In due course, and in consequence, we may suppose, of the Divine
blessing on the sincerity of their affection, a jewel of a little prince was
born to her. The first prince who had been born to the Emperor was the
child of Koki-den-Niogo,[6] the daughter of the Udaijin (a great officer

of State). Not only was he first in point of age, but his influence on his
mother's side was so great that public opinion had almost unanimously
fixed upon him as heir-apparent. Of this the Emperor was fully
conscious, and he only regarded the new-born child with that affection
which one lavishes on a domestic favorite. Nevertheless, the mother of
the first prince had, not unnaturally, a foreboding that unless matters
were managed adroitly her child might be superseded by the younger
one. She, we may observe, had been established at Court before any
other lady, and had more children than one. The Emperor, therefore,
was obliged to treat her with due respect, and reproaches from her
always affected him more keenly than those of any others.
To return to her rival. Her constitution was extremely delicate, as we
have seen already, and she was surrounded by those who would fain lay
bare, so to say, her hidden scars. Her apartments in the palace were
Kiri-Tsubo (the chamber of Kiri); so called from the trees that were
planted around. In visiting her there the Emperor had to pass before
several other chambers, whose occupants universally chafed when they
saw it. And again, when it was her turn to attend upon the Emperor, it
often happened that they played off mischievous pranks upon her, at
different points in the corridor, which leads to the Imperial quarters.
Sometimes they would soil the skirts of her attendants, sometimes they
would shut against her the door of the covered portico, where no other
passage existed; and thus, in every possible way, they one and all
combined to annoy her.
The Emperor at length became aware of this, and gave her, for her
special chamber, another apartment, which was in the Kôrô-Den, and
which was quite close to those in which he himself resided. It had been
originally occupied by another lady who was now removed, and thus
fresh resentment was aroused.
When the young Prince was three years old the Hakamagi[7] took place.
It was celebrated with a pomp scarcely inferior to that which adorned
the investiture of the first Prince. In fact, all available treasures were
exhausted on the occasion. And again the public manifested its
disapprobation. In the summer of the same year the Kiri-Tsubo-Kôyi

became ill, and wished to retire from the palace. The Emperor, however,
who was accustomed to see her indisposed, strove to induce her to
remain. But her illness increased day by day; and she had drooped and
pined away until she was now but a shadow of her former self. She
made scarcely any response to the affectionate words and expressions
of tenderness which her Royal lover caressingly bestowed upon her.
Her eyes were half-closed: she lay like a fading flower in the last stage
of exhaustion, and she became so much enfeebled that her mother
appeared before the Emperor and entreated with tears that she might be
allowed to leave. Distracted by his vain endeavors to devise means to
aid her, the Emperor at length ordered a Te-gruma[8] to be in readiness
to convey her to her own home, but even then he went to her apartment
and cried despairingly: "Did not we vow that we would neither of us be
either before or after the other even in travelling the last long journey of
life? And can you