32

Genji's brothers-in-law, the sons of the Minister of the Left, were all personable and popular young men, and life had been pleasant for them. Now they too were in eclipse. On To~ no Chu~jo~'s rare visits to his wife, the fourth daughter of the Minister of the Right, he was made to feel all too clearly that she was less than delighted with him and that he was not the minister's favorite son-in-law. As if to emphasize the point, he too was omitted from the spring lists. But he was not one to fret over the injustice. Genji's setbacks seemed to him evidence enough that public life was insecure, and he was philosophic about his own career. He and Genji were constant companions in their studies and in such diversions as music. Now and then something of their madcap boyhood rivalry seemed almost to come back.

Genji paid more attention than in other years to the semiannual readings of holy scriptures and commissioned several unscheduled readings as well. He would summon learned professors who did not have much else to do and beguile the tedium of his days composing Chinese poetry and joining in contests of rhyme guessing and the like. He seldom went to court. This indolent life seems to have aroused a certain amount of criticism.

On an evening of quiet summer rain when the boredom was very great, To~ no Chu~jo~ came calling and brought with him several of the better collections of Chinese poetry. Going into his library, Genji opened cases he had not looked into before and chose several unusual and venerable collections. Quietly he sent out invitations to connoisseurs of Chinese poetry at court and in the university. Dividing them into teams of the right and of the left, he set them to a rhyme-guessing contest. The prizes were lavish. As the rhymes became more difficult even the erudite professors were sometimes at a loss, and Genji would dazzle the assembly by coming up with a solution which had eluded them. The meeting of so many talents in one person—it was the wonder of the day, and it told of great merits accumulated in previous lives.

Two days later To~ no Chu~jo~ gave a banquet for the victors. Though it was a quiet, unostentatious affair, the food was beautifully arranged in cypress boxes. There were numerous gifts and there were the usual diversions, Chinese poetry and the like. Here and there below the veranda a solitary rose was coming into bloom, more effective, in a quiet way, than the full bloom of spring or autumn. Several of the guests presently took up instruments and began an impromptu concert. One of To~ no Chu~jo~'s little sons, a boy of eight or nine who had just this year been admitted to the royal presence, sang for them in fine voice and played on the sho~ pipes. A favorite of Genji, who often joined him in a duet, the boy was To~ no Chu~jo~'s second son and a grandson of the Minister of the Right. He was gifted and intelligent and very handsome as well, and great care had gone into his education. As the proceedings grew noisier he sang “Takasago” * in a high, clear voice. Delighted, Genji took off a singlet and presented it to him. A slight flush from drink made Genji even handsomer than usual. His skin glowed through his light summer robes. The learned guests looked up at him from the lower tables with eyes that had misted over. “I might have met the first lily of spring” —the boy had come to the end of his song. To~ no Chu~jo~ offered Genji a cup of wine and with it a verse:

“I might have met the first lily of spring, he says.

I look upon a flower no less pleasing.”

Smiling, Genji took the cup:

“The plant of which you speak bloomed very briefly.

It opened at dawn to wilt in the summer rains, and is not what it used to be.”

Though To~ no Chu~jo~ did not entirely approve of this garrulity, he continued to press wine upon his guest.

There seem to have been numerous other poems; but Tsurayuki has warned that it is in bad taste to compose under the influence of alcohol and that the results are not likely to have much merit,+ and so I did not trouble myself to write them down. All the poems, Chinese and Japanese alike, were in praise of Genji. In fine form, he said as if to himself: “I am the son of King Wen, the brother-of King Wu.” It was magnificent. And what might he have meant to add about King Ch'eng?# At that point, it seems, he thought it better to hold his tongue. Prince Sochi,* * who could always be counted upon to enliven these gatherings, was an accomplished musician and a witty and good-humored adversary for Genji.