9

Dawn approached and Genji was vaguely melancholy. As the wine flagons went the rounds he fell into reminiscence.

“I worked very hard at my Chinese studies when I was a boy, so hard that Father seemed to fear I might become a scholar. He thought it might be because scholarship seldom attracts wide acclaim, he said, that he had rarely seen it succeed in combining happiness with long life. In any event, he thought it rather pointless in my case, because people would notice me whether I knew anything or not. He himself undertook to tutor me in pursuits not related to the classics. I don't suppose I would have been called remarkably inept in any of them, but I did not really excel in any of them either. But there was painting. I was the merest dabbler, and yet there were times when I felt a strange urge to do something really good. Then came my years in the provinces and leisure to examine that remarkable seacoast. All that was wanting was the power to express what I saw and felt, and that is why I have kept my inadequate efforts from you until now. I wonder,” he said, turning to Prince Hotaru, “if my presuming to bring them out might set some sort of precedent for impertinence and conceit.”

“It is true of every art,” said the prince, “that real mastery requires concentrated effort, and it is true too that in every art worth mastering (though of course that word 'mastering' contains all manner of degrees and stages) the evidences of effort are apparent in the results. There are two mysterious exceptions, painting* and the game of Go, in which natural ability seems to be the only thing that really counts. Modest ability can of course be put to modest use. A rather ordinary person who has neither worked nor studied so very hard can paint a decent picture or play a decent game of Go. Sometimes the best families will suddenly produce someone who seems to do everything well.” He was now speaking to Genji. “Father was tutor for all of us, but I thought he took himself seriously only when you were his pupil. There was poetry, of course, and there was music, the flute and the koto. Painting seemed less study than play, something you let your brush have its way with when poetry had worn you out. And now see the results. See all of our professionals running off and hiding their faces.”

The prince may have been in his cups. In any event, the thought of the old emperor brought a new flood of tears.

A quarter moon having risen, the western sky was silver. Musical instruments were ordered from the royal collection. To~ no Chu~jo~ chose a Japanese koto. Genji was generally thought the finest musician in court, but To~ no Chu~jo~ was well above the ordinary. Genji chose a Chinese koto, as did Prince Hotaru, and Sho~sho~ no Myo~bu took up a lute Courtiers with a good sense of rhythm were set to marking time, and all in all it was a very good concert indeed. Faces and flowers emerged dimly in the morning twilight, and birds were singing in a clear sky. Gifts were brought from Fujitsubo's apartments. The emperor himself bestowed a robe on Prince Hotaru.