Sanuki no Suke’s Diary Volume 2 (3)

 

     As the days passed in this quiet retreat, memories resurfaced one after another. I recalled how, in the past, it was nearly impossible to relax at home like this; after only five or six days, a letter would inevitably arrive from the ladies-in-waiting, pleading, "We are short-handed—please return at once." Meanwhile, the outside world was in an uproar over the preparations for the new Emperor's enthronement.

     Lady Fujiwara Jisshi had been appointed to the prestigious role of raising the curtain during the ceremony. Her husband, the former Governor of Aki, remarked, "Fujiwara Kenshi performed this same duty at the late Emperor Horikawa’s enthronement; let us follow her precedent." While I heard news of his visit to Kenshi for guidance, I also received a somber report: "Jisshi’s father, Kinzane (1053-1107), who had been ill for some time, has suddenly taken a turn for the worse and passed away." I felt a deep sense of dismay, struck by the fleeting and disheartening nature of this world.

     At dusk, a summons arrived from Kenshi, instructing me to assist with the curtain-raising. I was utterly bewildered. I could only assume that, because I had repeatedly ignored the Retired Emperor’s previous summons, he believed I had no intention of attending the ceremony of my own accord and thus formally assigned me this duty to compel my presence. I felt trapped.

     Seeking counsel, I called my usual confidant and asked, "The Retired Emperor has issued such specific orders—what am I to do?"

     "You have no choice," the confidant replied. "The world is a troublesome place, and you must make a decision at once. If you fail to appear at the palace now, it will surely go ill for you. The Retired Emperor clearly believes this is the proper course of action."

     While we were still debating the matter, a messenger arrived from Fujiwara Tamefusa (1049-1115). He brought a formal Imperial decree transmitted through the Regent, Fujiwara Tadazane (1078-1162): "If you are still wearing mourning weeds for the late Emperor Horikawa, it is the Emperor’s command that you cast them off immediately. Do so without delay."

     Even a matter as personal as my grief was no longer under my control. To be forced to discard my mourning robes prematurely, before my heart was ready, was truly painful. I cannot help but compare my plight to the tale of the man who picked celery to offer to one he held dear, but could never reach—a bitter reminder that in this life, things rarely go as one’s heart desires.