29

His presence not being required at court, Genji spent a pleasant New Year at home. He followed the precedent of Chancellor Yoshifusa* and reviewed the white horses on his own Nijo~ grounds, where the observ-ances were no less grand than at court. Some of the details even went beyond what precedent required.

Late in the Second Month the emperor paid a visit to the Suzaku Palace of the retired emperor. The full bloom of the cherries would have coincided with the anniversary of Fujitsubo's death, but the early blossoms were very beautiful. The Suzaku Palace had been carefully repaired and redecorated. The court, even princes of the blood, wore uniform dress, green over white lined with red. The emperor wore red, as did Genji, present by royal summons. People seemed to carry themselves with greater dignity than on most occasions. The two of them, emperor and chancellor, looked so radiantly alike that they could almost have been mistaken for each other. The Suzaku emperor had improved with age. He had a soft, gentle sort of grace that was all his own.

Though no professed men of letters had been invited, ten and more university scholars were present, young men who were already making their marks as poets. The emperor assigned subjects from the official examinations. It was a mock examination for the benefit of the chancellor,s son, people suspected. Fidgeting nervously, the scholars were sent off to deliberate on their topics, each in a separate boat on the lake. They seemed to be having trouble. Musicians were rowed out on the lake as the sun was setting. A sudden wind came down from the hills to enliven the tuning of the instruments. Yu~giri was angry with the world. Only he was forbidden to sing and to joke.

“Spring Warbler” brought back memories of a spring festival many years before.+

“I wonder if we will ever again see such an affair,” said the Suzaku emperor.

Genji was lost in memories of his father's reign. When the dance was over he offered a cup to the Suzaku emperor, and with it a verse:

“The warblers are today as long ago,

But we in the shade of the blossoms are utterly changed.”

The Suzaku emperor replied:

“Though kept by mists from the ninefold-garlanded court,

I yet have warblers to tell me spring has come.”

Prince Hotaru filled the emperor's cup and offered this poem:

“The tone of the flute is as it always has been,

Nor do I detect a change in the song of the warbler.”

It was very thoughtful and tactful of him to suggest that not all was decline.

With awesome dignity, the emperor replied:

“The warbler laments as it flies from tree to tree—

For blossoms whose hue is paler than once it was?”

And that I have no more poems to set down—is it because, the occa-sion being a formal one, the flagons did not make the complete rounds? Or is it that our scrivener overlooked some of them?

The concert being at such a distance that the emperor could not hear very well, instruments were brought into the royal presence: a lute for Prince Hotaru, a Japanese koto for To~ no Chu~jo~, for the retired emperor a thirteen-stringed Chinese koto, and for Genji, as always, a sevenstringed Chinese koto. They must all play for him, said the emperor. They were accomplished musicians and they outdid themselves, and the concert could not have been finer. Numerous courriers were happy to sing the lyrics, “How Grand the Day” * and “Cherry-Blossom Girl” and the rest. A misty moon came up, flares were set out on the island, and the festivities came to an end.