Polygamy in Japan as elsewhere was confined to the upper classes, who alone were able to support the expense of so costly an institution. The actual wife (kita no kata, ‘north side’) of a man in Genji’s position had to be of the same social class as the husband, a condition fulfilled by Aoi, but not by Murasaki, who was never strictly speaking a kita no kata, but merely a tai no uye (‘lady of the wing’). It will be remembered that Murasaki’s mother was not of noble birth. Falling Flowers, Akashi and the rest were theoretically on the same footing as Murasaki. The number of ladies in an establishment was limited not by law or religion, but by expense and above all (in a case such as that of Genji) by the difficulty of dealing with the emotional situation that arose from large households. Did polygamy create different emotional situations from those to which we are accustomed—if, for example, it were so much taken for granted that jealousy ceased to exist—a novel dealing with a polygamous society would make very little appeal to us. It is because in Genji the re-actions of the characters are precisely the same as ours would be under similar circumstances, that the book holds our attention.
Another point concerning Genji’s household that perhaps requires comment is the apparent ability of persons to live years in the same house without ever having met. But such a thing happens frequently at English University Colleges, and we must envisage Genji’s palace as more like a college than a house,—consisting, in fact, of separate courtyards and cloisters, joined by covered galleries. Hence it comes about that, in the story, Genji’s various favourites tend to be isolated from one another in a way which is not always advantageous to the construction of the book. Later on the authoress realizes the danger of the tale falling into a series of disconnected episodes, in which the personality of Genji is the only common factor—and takes pains to bring her heroines into relation with one another.
A pamphleteer has recently shown how complete and elaborate is the time-scheme that underlies Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. It is obvious that Genji is based upon an equally precise scheme. Here is no ‘Oriental vagueness’; indeed it is inconceivable that Murasaki had not prepared for herself some species of chronological chart, which she kept constantly by her when at work. If it has appeared to any reader that her sense of time is vague, the fault is entirely mine. In one case, indeed, I am conscious of having created this impression by translating inappropriately a phrase about the young Emperor Ryōzen, whereby I make him seem much older than the chronology warrants. But there is never a moment in the story at which the authoress has not got a precise idea about the age of every character in it.
A WREATH OF CLOUD
A WREATH OF CLOUD