A Tale of False Fortunes (9 page)

Michinaga had probably seen that Kureha’s adoration of the empress verged on homosexuality, and he therefore furnished the young woman with a suitable man as a lover before her passion for the empress could turn into dedication. Both Yukikuni and Kureha played into Michinaga’s hands, neither having any knowledge whatsoever of his intentions. Korechika, of course, was unaware of all this, and even Takaie, the most astute in the late regent’s household, had no knowledge of these circumstances.

When Kureha took the empress’ letter—purportedly to Ukon no Naishi from Sei Shònagon—and presented herself at the evening quarters where his majesty was staying, she was not surprised when it appeared the empress dowager was also there.

Ukon no Naishi hurriedly gave Kureha a meaningful glance and called her to come by the side door, where Kureha announced:

“I am told that this is a reply from Shònagon in the form of Japanese verses based on Po Chü-i’s Chinese poems that were recited the other day.” Thereupon, Ukon made an appropriate nod and said, “The empress dowager is here this evening and we are very busy. Please tell Shònagon that I’ll write a reply early tomorrow morning.”

Upon opening it after Kureha had left, Ukon saw that it was not from Sei Shònagon, but rather a letter from the empress addressed to the emperor. She set it down next to the emperor,
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who had already retired to his bedchamber, and, still worried that she might be overheard, whispered, “Please look at this when no one is around. Be sure not to leave it lying about. . . .” The emperor also realized what it was and, giving a nod, slipped it nonchalantly into the breast of his robe. After ordering his valet to bring the lamp closer, he opened the letter with feelings of nostalgic anticipation, cautiously shifting his eyes to both sides of the bedchamber, as if he were entering the path of secret love.

He was immediately touched by the beautiful, feminine cursive hand written in a confusion of dark and light shades. The gist of the letter was as follows: When I came to you in secret at night, I begged you to appoint my brother Korechika as regent, but I learned yesterday that my wish was not granted.

However, I do not consider your majesty to be heartless. Rather, by making such a request, I have put you in a difficult position between myself and the empress dowager, and I am saddened to imagine how painful it must be for you. Because the empress dowager is also in the upper quarters—and because I am tainted by the pollution of my father’s death—I cannot very well come to your side for the time being, but henceforward please do not concern yourself about me. Make the decisions you judge in your heart to be right. The longer I am away from your majesty, the stronger are my feelings of yearning for you, eclipsing even my grief for my late father.

It appeared that the empress had been weeping while writing.

Just to see that the handwriting appeared to be blotted here and there by tears brought vivid memories to the emperor’s mind, as if she were right beside him: the feel of her black hair, glossy as if cold and wet; the softness of her white skin, which seemed as if it might vanish along with him if he embraced it. A madden-ing longing for her permeated his body. The more he thought that she must be suppressing her feelings out of consideration for him—in spite of appearances and the usual cheerful and ebullient wit of her words—he could not help regretting that he had appointed Michikane to the regency.

However, just as Takaie had predicted, it was but briefly that the family of Michikane—who had been stricken by an illness
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then rampant—would be delirious with joy at his appointment to the regency. At the hour of the ram (2:00 p.m.) on the eighth day of the fifth month, after only seven days, he expired like a bursting bubble. He was thirty-five years old.

Thus the only remaining opponent with whom Korechika had to contend for the eagerly sought-after regency was his uncle, Michinaga, who was eight years his senior. As far as both the emperor and the empress dowager were concerned, if Michikane had remained healthy and continued in the position, there ought to have been no need for another sharp exchange of opinions between parent and child, but when misfortune is added to untimeliness, the matter cannot simply be left alone.

In relating the events that followed,
A Tale of False Fortunes
follows the text of
A Tale of Flowering Fortunes
and simply records:

On the eleventh day of the fifth month, a proclamation
entitled “The Realm and the Service of Government Officials” was issued naming the Major Captain of the Left
(Michinaga) as Regent, making him quite without equals.

Since it voiced the Empress Dowager’s long-cherished
hope, she was deeply gratified.

However, as is attested by the record in
The Great Mirror,
both the empress dowager and Michinaga himself appear to have spared no efforts in securing this proclamation to the regency, and in all probability, this account was closer to the truth.

The emperor was reluctant to have Michinaga take the reins of power as regent. He felt sorry for the empress, who was already without backing after the death of her father, and he could imagine how galling it must be to her to see power passed to her youngest uncle, Michinaga, with whom she was not on good terms in spite of their blood relationship. Even in Michikane’s case, the emperor had not felt certain about the decision for those same reasons. The empress dowager did not think well of Korechika, and dismissed the emperor’s opinion, saying, “What
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would happen if you entrust the government of the realm to a mere boy like that? Doesn’t even the children’s song say, ‘If you want melons, first go get a container’?” She spared no words in her attempt to dissuade him: “Really, my late brother indulged Korechika too much. How painful it must have been for Michinaga, who is his uncle and many times more talented, to see his nephew promoted to palace minister ahead of him. Well, you were young then, and had left everything up to the late regent, so it really couldn’t be helped, but it would be too heartless of you this time, after having once entrusted the regency to Michikane, not to give it to Michinaga. Of course, neither Michinaga nor I would be pleased, but beyond that, anyone versed in court practices would be sure to think it improper.” The emperor was taken aback by the earnestness visible in his mother’s countenance, and sensed in it an even more determined opposition than she had put up on behalf of Michikane.

And yet, there was a tightness in the emperor’s breast every time he thought of the unfortunate empress, and he avoided giving a definite answer. Whenever he was with the empress dowager, he was always being taken to task about something.

Finally it became annoying, and he stopped going to the upper quarters where she had her residence.

The day on which the appointment was to be made, Michinaga, too, was so worried that he came to the Kokiden Palace to ask the empress dowager how the talks with the emperor were going.

Beneath her black robe, the empress dowager was wearing Chinese yellow figured cloth, and her locks, trimmed but still somewhat long, waved to and fro on her shoulders in maidenly fashion. Her noble bearing, long looked upon as representing her clan’s prosperity, still shone like the full moon in her youthful visage, which today seemed more dazzling than ever.

“His majesty doesn’t like to meet with me, and has been evading me. Today, I think I shall go to the evening palace and stay there all night if I have to until he is convinced. Please don’t go back, just wait here. . . .” Having said that to Michinaga, who was leaning his wooden scepter against the veranda, the
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empress dowager quietly disappeared out the door. She felt tense with desire to see how much power she, the emperor’s mother, had over his feelings.

With that, the door to the passageway connecting the Kokiden Palace and the Seiryòden Palace was shut tight, and for over two hours not so much as the sound of a cough escaped from the room where mother and son had met. The hour for the evening roll call of the courtiers was long past. Though it was a summer night, dew was falling on the veranda, and occasionally the faint yellow glow of fireflies flitting about in the garden would skim by Michinaga’s sleeve or court cap as he crouched down there.

Did the fact that no imperial sanction was forthcoming for a long time mean that the emperor would not accept what the empress dowager had to say? If that was the case, he would need to go ahead with his second plan to beat the empress and Korechika. Such were Michinaga’s thoughts as he sat there cross-legged.

Close to midnight, the door opened suddenly and with vigor, as if it had been forced open from within. The figure of the empress dowager as she emerged, the hem of her pleated skirt illuminated by the paper candle her attendant was holding, appeared before Michinaga’s eyes like a vision of a bodhisattva.

Though her face was red from weeping and glisteningly moist, the corners of her mouth lifted into a cheerful smile as she said,

“Finally, the proclamation has been issued.” Michinaga gulped involuntarily, crawled up to her on his knees and, lacking the composure to utter a single word, buried his head in the hem of her robe and wept. She, too, seeing how her usually intrepid younger brother was deeply moved, pressed her face into her sleeve.

Thus the position of regent was given to Michinaga, empower-ing him both to lead the Fujiwara clan as its chief and to issue commands to the entire realm.

Compared to the power of Michinaga, which grew more resplendent, like the morning sun, the fortunes of the nobles of
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the late regent’s household were irretrievably on the decline, like the sunset.

The only thing Korechika and Takaie were able to rely on was the emperor’s affection for the empress, but even that had been unable to stand in the way of the empress dowager’s insistence that Michinaga be appointed to the regency. Just as in the song “Change your tactic and the sky becomes cloudy, overturn it and it rains,” those in society who keenly followed shifts of power eschewed as imprudent an alliance with Korechika’s household or any seeking of his favor.

At times like these, the natural thing for a veteran of such contests to do would be to endure patiently and wait for an opportunity for a comeback. As nobles who had become thoroughly accustomed to having fortune on their side and who took favorable appointments for granted, however, neither Korechika nor Takaie made any attempt to flow with the current of the times; rather, they tried to maintain their wounded dignity by putting up resistance. In so doing, they played into Michinaga’s scheme to bury them, and ended up seeing their graves being dug before their very eyes.

Some events in
The Tale of Genji
are thought to have been modeled on the fates of people living at that time. After the death of the Kiritsubo emperor, the rival forces of the family of his elder brother’s mother, Kokiden, held a monopoly on influence at court, leaving Prince Genji in an isolated and helpless position. Genji failed to remain circumspect and was not careful to avoid those things that would invite censure. Instead, he deliberately rekindled an old love affair with the emperor’s favorite daughter, Oborozukiyo, having one tryst after another with her until it resulted in his being stripped of his office and forced into self-imposed exile in Suma. In that section, Genji’s dissoluteness—which, in spite of his fear of the strength of those in power, led him to behavior mocking that power—suggests inner plays of emotion similar to those of the brothers Korechika and Takaie who, not a year after power had shifted to Michinaga, were stripped of their offices and banished to distant Kyushu and Izumo. They were charged with assaulting
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retired emperor Kazan in a disturbance that, likewise, grew up around a favored imperial daughter.

It was a year after Michinaga had assumed the regency, in the fourth month of Chòtoku 2 (996), that this measure was enforced, and it was also at that time that Empress Teishi first conceived and was carrying the emperor’s child. As far as Michinaga was concerned, the fact that the emperor’s favorite consort was pregnant with the first imperial child rather necessitated the permanent ousting of his close relatives Korechika and Takaie from positions of power.

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Chapter Three
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After Michinaga had assumed the regency and taken the reins of government, two new ladies-in-waiting were installed to attend the emperor. One was Genshi, the daughter of Akimitsu, the Horikawa minister of the right, and the other was Gishi, the daughter of Major Counselor Kinsue. Genshi was called Lady Hirohata and had her residence in the Shòkyòden Palace, while Gishi was quartered in the Kokiden Palace. Both were from reputable families and had aspired to court service, but as long as the former regent was in power they held back, fearing that they would be eclipsed by the empress’ influence, which was at its zenith. Now that power had shifted to Michinaga, who personally encouraged them, they resolved to present themselves at court.

Now Michinaga did in fact have a daughter of his own, but she was still at the age when girls run and skip, and he could not very well have had her installed at court. Under such circumstances, then, the greatest obstacle he faced was the ability of the empress to captivate the emperor with her charms, and it became necessary for the new regent to use someone—it did not matter whom—as a wedge between the two. Through various connections, Michinaga was able to learn a great deal about the features and dispositions of the two new ladies-in-waiting. Genshi was the granddaughter of Kanemichi (who had always been on bad terms with his elder brother, Kaneie) and, as might therefore be expected, had been raised in an old-fashioned manner with an emphasis on refinement and decorum in all things, but she lacked an engaging charm. Gishi was attractive enough, to be sure, but was not very adept at music and was somewhat dull-witted. Neither possessed a temperament to
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match that of the empress, and Michinaga could plainly see that, by the time his own eldest daughter would come of age, neither would be a serious rival for the emperor’s favors. He was therefore able, with peace of mind, to encourage their installment at court. It would be to his advantage, too, if his majesty should become somewhat infatuated with the new ladies-in-waiting and if princes were born to them. Michinaga was confident of his own power to shift the position of such princes about in any manner. The only unsettling prospect remaining was that of a prince born to Teishi.