The Diary of Lady Murasaki by Murasaki Shikibu Page B

I felt downcast, vexed that nothing was turning out as I had hoped and that my misery simply seemed to increase.
    ‘But why?’ I asked myself. ‘Now surely is the time to forget. It does me no good to fret, and besides, it will only make matters worse.’
    As day dawned, I looked outside and saw the ducks playing about on the lake as if they had not a care in the world:
Can I remain indifferent to those birds on the water?
I too am floating in a sad uncertain world.
    They too looked as though they were enjoying life but must suffer greatly, I thought.
    I was in the midst of composing a reply to a note sent by Lady Koshōshō, when all of a sudden it became dark and started to rain. As the messenger was in a hurry, I finished it off with: ‘and the sky too seems unsettled.’ I must have included a rather lame verse, for that evening the messenger returned with a poem written on dark purple cloud-patterned paper:
The skies at which I gaze and gaze are overcast;
How is it that they too rain down tears of longing?
    Unable to remember what I had written, I replied:
It is the season for such rainy skies;
Clouds may break, but these watching sleeves will never dry.
    On the day of the imperial visit, His Excellency had the boats poled over to where he could inspect them. They had been specially made for the occasion. They were most impressive; you could almost imagine that the dragon and mythical bird on the prows were alive. 30 As we heard that the procession was to arrive at about eight in the morning, we had been fussing about with our dress and powder since early dawn. The nobles were to sit in the west wing so there was none of the usual commotion on our side of the mansion, but I was told that the women who served His Excellency’s second daughter had been obliged to be more than usually careful about their dress.
    Lady Koshōshō arrived at dawn, so we dressed and did our hair together. As we knew these affairs were inevitably delayed, we dawdled somewhat and were still waiting for some new fans to replace our own rather uninspiring ones when suddenly there came the sound of drums and we had to hurry over in a rather undignified manner.
    The water-music that greeted the Emperor was enchanting. As the procession approached, the bearers – despite being of low rank – hoisted the palanquin right up the steps and then had to kneel face down beneath it in considerable distress. ‘Are we really that different?’ I thought to myself as I watched. ‘Even those of us who mix with nobility are bound by rank. How very difficult!’
    A space to the west of the dais had been reserved for His Majesty and his chair was set up in the eastern part of the southern gallery. One span away, at the east end of the gallery, blinds had been hung north–south for the ladies-in-waiting to sit behind. Then the blind by the southernmost pillar was raised slightly to allow two handmaids to step forward. They were elegantly dressed with their hair up for the occasion, just as you might find in an exquisite Chinese painting.
    Saemon no Naishi carried the sword. She was wearing a plain yellow-green jacket, a train shading at the hem, and a sash and waistband with raised embroidery in orange and white checked silk. Her mantle had five cuffs of white lined with dark red, and her crimson gown was of beaten silk. Her form, her demeanour, and that part of her face that you could just see round her fan, gave her an impression of vitality and freshness.
    Ben no Naishi carried the Imperial Jewel in a casket. Over a crimson gown she wore a mantle of light purple, and a train and jacket similar to Saemon no Naishi’s. She was a petite, attractive woman and I was sorry to see her so embarrassed and nervous. She was by far the more stylish of the two, even down to her choice of fan. Her sash was of green and purple check. The sashes snaked and trailed around both women in dreamlike fashion; were those angels said to have descended from heaven to dance in