11

Genji walked off to his carriage amid the shouts of his outrunners. He invited To~ no Chu~jo~ and Hyo~e no Kami# to ride with him.

“You cannot know what a disappointment it is,” he said, in genuine annoyance, “to have people pour in on what you had hoped would be a hideaway.”

“Nor can you know our disappointment, my lord, at not being permit-ted to share the moon with you last night. That is why we fought our way through the autumn mists. Though the journey did have its pleasures. The autumn leaves are not quite at their best, perhaps, but the autumn flowers were very beautiful.” He went on to describe a falconing expedition that was keeping certain of his friends longer than they had planned.

“And so we must go to Katsura, I suppose,” said Genji, to the modest consternation of the stewards, who now had to put together an impromptu banquet.

The calls of the cormorant fishermen made him think of the fishermen at Akashi, their speech as incomprehensible as the chirping of birds. Back from their night upon the moors, the young falconers offered a sampling of their take, tied to autumn reeds. The flagons went the rounds so frequently that a river crossing seemed out of the question, and so of course a day of roistering must be passed at Katsura. Chinese poems were tossed back and forth. As moonlight flooded the scene the music was more boisterous, dominated by the flute, there being several fine flutists in the company. The stringed instruments were quieter, only the Japanese koto and the lute. The flute is an autumn instrument, at its best in the autumn breezes. Every detail of the riverbank rose clear and high and clean in the moonlight. A new party arrived from the palace, from the royal presence itself, indeed. The emperor had been much disappointed that Genji had not called at the end of the week-long retreat from which the court had just emerged. There was music once more, and surely, thought the emperor, Genji would appear. This was the emperor's personal message, delivered by a secretary after Genji had offered suitable excuses:

“Cleaner, more stately the progress of the moon

Through regions beyond the river Katsura.*

“I am envious.”

Genji repeated his apologies, most elaborately. But this somehow seemed a better place for music than even the palace. They abandoned themselves to music and to wine.

The Katsura villa being inadequately supplied, Genji sent to Oi to see if there might not be quietly elegant cloths and garments with which to reward the messengers. Two chests came back from the Oi closets. There was a set of women's robes for the royal envoy, who returned immediately to the city.

Genji's reply to the emperor was an oblique hint that a royal visit would be welcomed:

It is not true to its name, this Katsura.

There is not moon enough to dispel the mists.”

“Katsura, at the heart of the eternal moon,” * he added softly; and he thought too of Mitsune's “Awaji in the moonlight.” +

“So near and clear tonight, is it the moon

Of far Awaji? We both have come back.”

This was the reply.:

“All should now be peace. Then lost in clouds

The moon sends forth again its radiance.”

Sadaiben, an older official who had been in close attendance upon Genji's father, also had a poem:

“The midnight moon should still be in the heavens.

Gone is its radiance—hidden in what valley?”

There would seem to have been poems and poems, but I did not have the patience to set them all down. I could have enjoyed a millennium of Genji,s company, however, so serene and sure did he seem.

Today they must definitely go back, said Genji, and soon. No rotting ax handles, please.

Gifts were distributed as became the several ranks, and the waves of courtiers, coming and going, disappearing and reappearing in the morning mists, were like banks of autumn flowers. Some of the warrant officers were good poets and singers. Rather bored with elegance, they had moved on to ribaldry. Someone sang “Oh My Pony,” # so successfully that courtier after courtier was seen stripping off robes and pressing them upon him. It was as if the wind had spread a brocade of autumn leaves over the garden. Echoes of this noisy departure reached Oi, and a sad lady. Genji was sorry that he had not been able to get off a letter.