At the Nijō-in there were whole cupboards full of pictures both old and new. Taking Murasaki with him he now inspected their contents and together they went through the whole collection, putting on one side those which were most likely to appeal to modern taste. There were naturally many illustrations of the Everlasting Wrong[3] and the story of Wang Chao-chün,[4] both of them very interesting and moving subjects, but unfortunately quite inappropriate to the present occasion. These therefore had to be excluded. But it occurred to Genji that his own sketches made during his sojourn at Suma and Akashi might be of interest, and sending for the box in which they were kept he took advantage of this occasion to go through them with Murasaki. Even some one seeing them without any knowledge of the circumstances under which they were painted would, if possessed of the slightest understanding of such matters, have at once been profoundly moved by these drawings. It may be imagined then with what emotion they were examined by one to whom each scene came as an answer to the questionings and anxieties of some evil dream from which it seemed there could be no awakening. She told him more of what she had suffered in those unforgettable days than she had ever done before. Why had he not sometimes sent such pictures as these? How they would have comforted and reassured her. And she recited the verse: ‘Better had it been for me when I was alone to look at pictures of the realms where fishers dwell, than stare at nothing, as I did all day long!’ Genji was deeply moved and with tears in his eyes he answered with the verse: ‘It was an evil time; yet never once in all those days was my heart sore as now when, hand in hand, we view the pictured past.’
To one other person only had he shown them—the ex-Empress Fujitsubo. Going through the whole collection sketch by sketch, in order to choose out the best and also to give as good an idea as possible of the different estuaries and bays, he could not help wondering all the time how things were faring in the house of his host at Akashi.
On hearing of the preparations that were taking place at the Nijō-in, Tō no Chūjō went through his pictures again and had them all fitted out with the most elegant ivory-rollers, backings and ribbons.[5] It was about the tenth day of the third month. The weather was delightful, things were looking at their best and every one was in a good temper; moreover it was a time at which no particular fêtes or ceremonies occupied the Court, so that uninterrupted attention could be now given to those lighter pastimes in which the Emperor so much delighted, and whole days were spent unrolling painting after painting. The one ambition of every one at Court was to rout out and bring to the Palace some picture which should particularly catch the young Emperor’s fancy. Both Akikonomu’s partisans and those of Lady Chūjō had brought forward vast numbers of scrolls. On the whole, illustrated romances proved to be the most popular. Akikonomu’s side was strongest in ancient works of well-established reputation; while Lady Chūjō patronized all the cleverest modern painters, so that her collection, representing as it did all that most appealed to the fashionable tastes of the moment, made at first sight a more dazzling impression. The Emperor’s own ladies-in-waiting were divided in opinion. Some of the most intelligent were on the side of the ancients; others favoured the present day. But on the whole modern works tended to win their approval.
It happened that Fujitsubo was paying one of her periodical visits to the Court, and having given a casual inspection to the exhibits of both parties she decided to suspend her usual religious observances and devote herself to a thorough study of all these works, for painting was a matter in which she had always taken a deep interest. Hearing the animated discussions which were taking place between the supporters of modern and ancient art, she suggested that those present should be formed into two teams. On Lady Akikonomu’s side the principal names were Heinaishi no Suke, Jijū no Naishi, Shōshō no Myōbu; on Lady Chūjō’s,—Daini no Naishi no Suke, Chūjō no Myōbu and Hyōye no Myōbu. These were considered the cleverest women of the day, and Fujitsubo promised herself very good entertainment from such an interchange of wit and knowledge as their rivalry was likely to afford.
In the first contest that archetype and parent of all romances, The Bamboo Cutter’s Story,[6] was matched against the tale of Toshikage in The Hollow Tree. The partisans of antiquity defended their choice as follows: ‘We admit that this story, like the ancient bamboo-stem in which its heroine was found, has in the course of ages become a little loose in the joints. But the character of Lady Kaguya herself, so free from all stain of worldly impurity, so nobly elevated both in thought and conduct, carries us back to the Age of the Gods, and if such a tale fails to win your applause, this can only be because it deals with matters far beyond the reach of your frivolous feminine comprehensions.’ To this the other side replied: ‘The Sky Land to which Lady Kaguya was removed is indeed beyond our comprehensions, and we venture to doubt whether any such place exists. But if we regard merely the mundane part of your story, we find that the heroine emanated from a bamboo joint. This gives to the story from the start an atmosphere of low life which we for our part consider very disagreeable. We are told that from the lady’s person there emanated a radiance which lit up every corner of her foster-father’s house. But these fireworks, if we remember aright, cut a very poor figure when submitted to the august light of his Majesty’s Palace. Moreover the episode of the fireproof ratskin ends very tamely, for after Abe no Ōshi[7] had spent thousands of gold pieces in order to obtain it, no sooner was it put to the test than it disappeared in a blaze of flame. Still more lamentable was the failure of Prince Kuramochi[7] who, knowing that the journey to Fairyland was somewhat difficult, did not attempt to go there but had a branch of the Jewel Tree fabricated by his goldsmith; a deception which was exposed at the first scratch.’
The picture was painted by Kose no Ōmi[8] and the text was in the hand of Ki no Tsurayki.[9] It was on Kanya paper backed with Chinese silk. The cover was of a reddish violet tinge, the rollers being of sandal-wood,—by no means an extraordinary get-up. The moderns then proceeded to defend their own exhibit; ‘Toshikage,’[10] they said, ‘though buffeted by wind and wave, pitched headlong into a stormy sea and in the end cast up upon an unknown shore, pursued, undaunted by suffering and disaster, the purpose which he had set before him, and succeeded at last in displaying, both at the foreign Court[11] and in our own country, the marvellous talent which it had cost him so much to acquire. The adventures of so dauntless a character, affording as they do a comparison between the manners of the Land Beyond the Sea and of our own Land of Sunrise, cannot fail to be of interest; moreover the same contrast has been maintained in the style of the pictures as in the matter of the text.’
It was painted on thick white paper such as poem-slips are made of, the outer cover was of blue paper and the roller of yellow jade. The artist was Tsunenori;[12] the scribe, Onō no Michikaze,[13]—a combination that could hardly have been more dazzling in its fashionableness and modernity. Against such claims as these the partisans of the antique were quite unable to prevail and Lady Chūjō’s side scored the overwhelming victory.
In the next contest the Tales of Ise[14] were pitted against the story of Shō Sammi.[15] A long discussion ensued; but here again the fact that Shō Sammi deals with persons in a comfortable and prosperous situation, presents scenes of Court life and shows the world as we know it to-day could not fail to render this work far more attractive to the majority of these young critics. An opposite opinion was voiced by Heinaishi, who recited the verse: ‘Shall we leave the deep heart of Ise’s waters unexplored till time shall have effaced their secret, like a footprint that the tide washes from the shore?’ ‘Shall the fame of Narihira,’[16] she added, ‘be eclipsed by modern tittle-tattle dressed up in the finery of a specious style?’ To this Daini no Naishi no Suke replied with the verse: ‘Upon the topmost regions of the sky[17] our hero’s heart is set; with scorn he views your shoals, upon which, heavy as a thousand watery fathoms, the ages rest.’
‘Well,’ said Fujitsubo, ‘ambition such as that of Prince Hyōye[18] is no doubt a very valuable quality; but I sincerely hope that admiration for him and his like will never cause us to let the fame of Captain Laigo[19] sink into decay!’ And she recited the verse: ‘Has the old fisherman of Ise shore, like seaweed that the ebbing tide reveals, so long been flattered by the public eye, only to sink at last beneath the rising sea of scorn?’
These feminine discussions are capable of continuing, more or less at cross-purposes for an indefinite length of time. It would indeed be impossible to record all the arguments and counter-arguments that were expended over even one of these pictures. Moreover the younger and less considered of the gentlewomen present, though any one of them would have given her eyes not to miss any of the paintings that were being unrolled, were hustled into the background, even though they belonged to the Emperor’s own or to Lady Fujitsubo’s household, and were scarcely able to see anything at all. This occasioned much jealousy and heart-burning.