Publication in our sense of the word did not of course exist in those days. But no doubt a few copies of the book were made for those who were likely to be interested. Kane-iye himself, who lived on for another twenty-five years, surely possessed one. Now it was in the family of Kane-iye’s legitimate son Michinaga[1] that Murasaki, the authoress of the Tale of Genji, served as lady-in-waiting, and we know from Murasaki’s diary that this Michinaga fell in love with her and courted her. It is more than probable that Michinaga had inherited a copy of the Gossamer Diary from Kane-iye and in that case it is also very probable that he showed it to Murasaki. This much at any rate is certain, that we find in the Gossamer Diary an anticipation of just those characteristics which mark off Genji from other Japanese romances,—apt delineation of character, swift narrative, vivid description and above all the realization that a story of actual life, such as is led by hundreds of real men and women, is not necessarily less interesting than a tale crammed with ogres and divinities. The following passage refers to the year 970, when Kane-iye (the lover) was 41, Michitsuna (the bastard) 15 and Lady Gossamer herself perhaps about 35.
‘Every day he promises that it shall be to-morrow. And when to-morrow comes, it is to be the day after. Of course I do not believe him; yet each time that this happens I begin imagining that he has repented,—that all has come right again. So day after day goes by.
‘At last I am certain. He does not intend to come. I did not think that about unhappiness I had anything fresh to learn; I confess that never before have I endured such torture as in these last days. Hour after hour the same wretched thoughts chase through my brain. Shall I be able to endure it much longer? I have tried to pray; but no prayer forms itself in my mind, save the wish that I were dead.
‘But there is this lovely creature (her son Michitsuna) to think of. If only he were a little older and I could see him married to some girl whom I trusted, then I would indeed be glad to die. But as it is how can I leave him to shift for himself,—to wander perhaps from house to house? No, that is too horrible. I must not die.
‘I might of course become a nun and try to forget all this. Indeed, I did once speak of it (i.e. to Michitsuna),—quite lightly, just to see how he would take it. He was terribly distressed and, struggling with his tears, he told me that if I did so he would become a monk, “For what would there be,” he said, “to keep me in the world? You are the only thing I care for.” And at that he burst into a flood of tears. By this time I too was weeping; but seeing him almost beside himself with grief I tried to pass the thing off as a jest, saying “Well, I mean to one day; and what will your highness do then?” It happened that he had a falcon on his wrist, and jumping straight to his feet he set it free, reciting as he did so the verse: “Desolate must she be, and weary of strife, whose thoughts, like this swift bird, fly heavenward at a touch.”
‘At this, some of my servants who chanced to be sitting near by could not restrain their tears; and it may be imagined with what feelings I, in the midst of the unendurable misery and agitation with which I was contending, heard my child utter these words.
‘It was growing dark when suddenly he (her lover) arrived at the house. For some reason I felt certain that he had come only to regale me with all the empty gossip that was going round. I sent a message that I was not well and would see him some other time.
‘It is the tenth day of the seventh month. Every one is getting ready their Ullambana[2] presents. If, after all these years, he should fail to send me anything for the festival I think the most hard-hearted person in the world could not help being sorry for me! However, there is still time.
‘Last night, just when I was thinking I should have to get the offerings for myself and was weeping bitterly, a messenger came with just the same presents as in other years, and a letter attached! Even the dead were not forgotten.[3] In his letter he quoted the poem: “Though never far away, yet wretched must I bide....” If that is indeed how he feels, his conduct becomes more than ever inexplicable! No allusion to the fact that he has transferred his affections to some one else. Yet I am certain it is so.
‘It suddenly occurs to me that there is a certain gentlewoman in the household of that Prince Ono no Miya[4] who died the other day. I believe that it is she whom my lord is courting. She is called Ōmi, and I heard some one whispering not long ago that this Ōmi was having an adventure of some kind. He does not want her to know that he comes here. That is why he decided to break with me beforehand. I said this to one of my maids; but she doubted if there were anything in it. “O well, it may be so,” she said, “but in any case this Ōmi is not the sort of person to ask many questions....”