A Tale of False Fortunes (10 page)

However, Michinaga’s plan to dampen the affections shared by the emperor and empress was not successful. The emperor did enter into perfunctory intimacies with the ladies-in-waiting living in the Shòkòden and Kokiden Palaces, but such dal-liances merely made him realize anew that, as a woman, Teishi was quite without peer in beauty, gentleness, and intelligence.

After Michinaga had succeeded to the regency, the empress returned for a time to her parents’ home. Messengers came several times each day bearing letters from the emperor. The ladies-in-waiting and others in the emperor’s retinue began to exchange glances, tugging at one another’s sleeves and gossiping about how his majesty suddenly had so much to say.

The empress, who had returned to her parents’ home in the fifth month, again entered court on the nineteenth day of the sixth month and was quartered in the Umetsubo Pavilion. After her return, the emperor rarely went to the quarters of the new ladies-in-waiting. It was a blissful picture of special favor, not unlike that described in the verse from the “Song of Everlasting Sorrow”: “Of the three thousand beauties at court / His love for the one equaled that of three thousand.” The empress dowager was then making frequent trips between the court and her parental home, and at the same time secretly keeping an eye on the relationship between the emperor and empress. That autumn, when she was at the Ichijò Palace, her head felt heavy and her shoulders and lower back began to ache. After taking to her bed, she would occasionally be plagued by fits of coughing and labored breathing. Both the emperor
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and Michinaga were extremely worried, thinking that it must be some kind of evil spell or that she must be possessed by a malevolent spirit. They summoned the abbot of Hieizan, called in all other priests renowned for miraculous spiritual powers, and had them spare no effort in offering prayers of protection.

Courtiers and warriors close to Michinaga occasionally warned him, “This is no doubt the work of Palace Minister Korechika. He is resentful that the regency was given to your lordship and has the impertinence to have a curse placed on the empress dowager. As a matter of fact, they say that the minister’s maternal grandfather, Naritada, is practicing all manner of spells, boasting that he will place a curse on your lordship, too, to bring about your demise just as he did with Michikane. If we don’t do something soon, then not only the empress dowager’s life, but also your lordship’s, might be placed in jeopardy.” Of course, Michinaga was not unaware that the holy man was performing elaborate rites, but he did not for a moment think his own life would come to an end through such misdirected maledictions. Michinaga’s long-held ambition had been realized: he had become the head of the Fujiwara clan, and as he seized power over the entire realm, he beamed with confidence. Michinaga had been aware for some time that the abilities of the quick-witted Korechika, his junior in years, were in reality somewhat superficial, but now that he occupied the premier position of government, he was able to look down upon Korechika and the entire household of the former regent from an exalted vantage. Korechika was no one to fear. The disquieting ones were Empress Teishi and the former regent’s second son, Takaie, who was said to be an unruly sort. If a first prince were born to the empress—and if Takaie gave this prince his full backing, both publicly and privately—then Takaie would enjoy the complete trust of the emperor, and his political influence might be welcome both in the capital and in the country, as if he himself were regent.

Considering these circumstances, it occurred to Michinaga that, in order to shore up his own position, isolating the empress from the emperor was of greater expediency than moving Korechika out of the way.

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reports the condition of the empress dowager’s illness in the following manner:
The Regent watched apprehensively as it became apparent
that her condition was deteriorating day by day. Moreover,
her frequent fits of coughing and her plaintive weeping
seemed to come from beyond waking consciousness. Concluding that it must be the work of an evil spirit, his lordship gathered priests renowned for their efficacious prayers
and had them perform, without interruption, the rituals to
the Five Wisdom Kings.

His Majesty, too, was so troubled by his mother’s condition that he was unable to do anything. She had turned
thirty-six that same year, but was still young in appearance; her figure was at its prime, and it seemed a shame
that she should be a nun. He continually lamented his
father’s untimely demise, and now if the Empress Dowager should pass away as well, then he felt he would be
unable to continue his own reign. One day, he went in
secret to the Ichijò Palace.

When the emperor’s visit was announced, his mother was so pleased by his filial sentiments that she had her pillow raised, her disheveled hair combed, and her appearance freshened.

When the emperor was brought to the empress dowager, he was both encouraged and gratified to see that her complexion looked better than he had expected. Of course, Michinaga was at her side.

The empress dowager had been suppressing the spasms of her illness, but at length she was again overcome by them and pleaded, pain in her voice, “Please leave. . . . I do not wish to have you see me lose my dignity.” She bent down, leaning over on an armrest. Michinaga said, “This happens all the time, and the pain seems to be getting steadily worse.” He then signaled the priests to resume their prayers, which they had stopped while the emperor was present.

Among the ladies-in-waiting caring for the empress dowager was one who suddenly began to shake as if she had been doused
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with cold water. In an instant she bent her body like a bow and began to writhe, and then stood up and went toward the emperor.

Michinaga was startled and, restraining her with his wooden scepter against her skirt, sharply rebuked her: “Look here!

Where do you think you are? Don’t you know you’re in the presence of the sovereign of the land? What kind of fox deity has possessed you to commit such an outrage?” Michinaga’s air was all the more imposing because he was ordinarily indulgent and calm. On this occasion, his mien was such that even gods and demons would likely shrink from it. Nevertheless, the young lady-in-waiting, dressed in a scarlet skirt with a blue outer garment, seemed to have no fear of the regent’s authority. She smiled and said, “That’s not for you to say, uncle. I am dearer to his majesty even than his own mother. He always says that rather than part with me, he would give up the throne. What, then, is wrong with my going to his side?” Then, managing her graceful train, she lightly straightened the skirt Michinaga had been restraining, and smoothly drew up to the emperor.

“Your Majesty, have you forgotten me? Just last night, when you came to the Kiritsubo Pavilion, didn’t you recite ‘The grasses of love / Piled up high in seven carts / In seven great carts . . . ’?*” It was an unusual spectacle to see the lady-in-waiting place her hand on the emperor’s knee and gaze at him with gentle reproach. It was nevertheless exactly like the empress’ solicitous and consoling manner, and left the emperor dumbfounded.

*From a poem by Princess Hirokawa in the
Man’yòshû:
Koigusa o

The grasses of love

Chikaraguruma ni

Piled up high in seven carts,

Nanakuruma

In seven great carts—

Tsumite kouraku

This surfeit of love

Waga kokoro kara.

Comes from my heart.

IV:
694

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This young lady-in-waiting was none other than Ayame of Miwa, who barely a month before had come to serve in the palace of the empress dowager.

His majesty had never actually witnessed a spirit possession, much less by a spirit appearing to be the “living ghost” of his beloved empress, who seemed to be cursing his mother. He so lost his composure that he was covered with gooseflesh and was a pathetic sight: hopelessly transfixed, the color draining from his face, and perspiration oozing around the edges of his hair as he bit his colorless lips.

“Your majesty is unaware that the empress dowager is envi-ous of your affection for me. That is why you did not grant the regency to Palace Minister Korechika, and that is also why you do not intend to give the throne to the prince who is now in my womb. Because your majesty’s filial devotion is deep, you will not contravene what your mother says. As long as the empress dowager remains alive, not a single ray of light will dispel the gloom of my life. Even as your mother curses me, so do I curse her. No one knows about the imprecations now being performed by my grandfather, but when those rites are consummated, the empress dowager’s life will vanish like morning dew.

This shall be your mother’s recompense for her having despised me.”

With that, Ayame of Miwa buried her face in her sleeve and laughed in an uncanny voice. To his majesty’s ears it was none other than the coquettish laugh of the empress when she tried to stifle all sound from escaping their bedchamber. Though the wan, twitching face bore no resemblance whatsoever, he could not help feeling that the empress herself was lying prostrate before him. At that very moment the empress dowager began to tear at her own breast and bent herself backward as if someone were strangling her. The emperor cried out, “Mother, mother!” and, shoving the armrest out of his way, tried to go to her side.

Michinaga caught him by the sleeve. “You mustn’t go near her.

The high priest will see to it that the malignant spirit is exorcised from that crazed medium of a lady-in-waiting. The empress dowager will shortly feel better. Your majesty must not come in
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contact with any evil influence. I beg you to leave immediately.” Practically wrapping the emperor in the sleeve of his own garment, Michinaga also withdrew from the room. Surrounded by screens in a room to the side of the main hall was the hellish scene of the exorcist, his face painted vermilion, intoning mystical formulas in a high voice and whipping the lady-in-waiting with his rosary, her hair dishevelled and utterly wretched to behold.

Even after returning to the imperial palace that night, the emperor did not go to the Umetsubo Pavilion. He was torn between feeling guilty for having broken his promise to the empress and a perennial desire to bury his cheek in her cold black hair and worship her smooth, sleek skin until his heart was set ablaze. At the same time, he was chilled by the all-too-plain maliciousness of the maledictory words pronounced by the medium at the Ichijò Palace.

The emperor was well enough able to imagine that the empress, who had not succeeded in her backing of Korechika for the regency, might not bear amiable feelings toward the empress dowager, but when he had been alone with his consort, she had never once spoken in a derogatory manner about his mother. Even when the regency had been given to Michikane immediately after Michitaka’s death, the empress had sent a letter to the emperor from the Tòkaden Palace showing a gentle, sisterly solicitude at a time when he was caught between pleas-ing her or his mother.

“Such a malicious curse couldn’t possibly have come from her heart. I wonder if it might not be a plot by those in my mother’s camp to drive us apart.”

After returning to his palace that night, various thoughts passed through the youthful emperor’s mind about the wretched medium he had seen that day. His love for his consort was so deep that at length he found himself speculating on the motives of that lady-in-waiting. But then, how could he account for the fact that the demeanor and speech of the medium were identical to those of the empress? Particularly, how could anyone but Teishi herself have known of the verses “The grasses of love /Piled
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up high in seven carts /in seven great carts,” which he had recited in the bedchamber just the night before? Such thoughts gave him an uneasy feeling that perhaps some sinful, feminine karma was lodged in the empress’ heart and was manifesting itself through such uncanny workings.

Of course, the emperor did not mention this incident to anyone. To the personal attendants and ladies-in-waiting, though, who were serving that day in the Ichijò Palace, it was shocking to see the empress’ living ghost attacking the empress dowager, and they could not very well keep it to themselves. Among the valets who never left the emperor’s side was the lover of a lady-in-waiting in the Umetsubo Pavilion, and he recounted to her what happened at the Ichijò Palace that night when the emperor did not go to the empress. Amazed and alarmed, the next morning the lady-in-waiting relayed the story in a hushed voice to Chûshò, the empress’ nurse.

Chûshò had thought it strange when the emperor did not show up the night before, and she nodded understandingly. She did not have the courage to inform the empress of such a matter right away, however, but waited for an opportune moment to call Ukon no Naishi, who had come to deliver a letter from the emperor to a paneled door somewhat removed from the empress’ presence, and there inquired about what had happened the previous day. Naishi’s face betrayed a degree of con-sternation, and, fumbling with her cypress-ribbed fan, she said,

“The gossip has spread rather quickly, hasn’t it? Only the empress dowager, his majesty, and the regent were present at the scene, so I can’t claim to have witnessed it myself. The countenance of one of the young ladies-in-waiting serving the empress dowager changed suddenly. She was no doubt possessed by an evil spirit, but the claim that it was the empress’

living ghost is just the babbling of vulgar types who are fond of spreading stories. His majesty has said nothing about it.” Ukon no Naishi, in the usual manner of those experienced in service at court, tried to put the matter in a harmless and inof-fensive light. When further prevailed upon by Chûshò, she could no longer conceal it and ended up telling what had happened
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