2

The gaming boards were brought out, Go and backgammon and _tagi_* and the rest, and the men settled down for trials of strength as fancy took them. Not used to travel and persuaded by something more than fatigue, Niou decided that it would be a pleasant spot for a night's lodging. After resting for a time, he had instruments brought out. It was late afternoon. As so often happens far away from the noisy world, the accompaniment of the water seemed to give the music a clearer, higher sound.

The Eighth Prince's villa was across the river, a stone's throw away. The sound came over on the breeze to make him think of old days at court.

“What a remarkable flutist that is,” said the prince to himself. “Who might it be? Genji played an interesting flute, a most charming flute; but this is somehow different. It puts me in mind of the music we used to hear at the old chancellor's, bold and clear, and maybe just a little haughty.* It has been a very long time indeed since I myself took part in such a concert. The months and the years have gone by like waking dead!”

Pity for his daughters swept over him. If there were only a way to get them out of these mountains! Kaoru was exactly what he hoped a son-inlaw might be, but Kaoru seemed rather wanting in amorous urges. How could he think of handing his daughters over to trifling young men of the sort the world seemed to produce these days? The worries chased each other through his mind, and the spring night, endless for someone lost in melancholy thought, went on and on. Beyond the river, the travelers were enjoying themselves quite without reserve, and for them, in their fuddlement, the spring night was all too quick to end. It seemed a pity, thought Niou, to start for home so soon.

The high sky with fingers of mist trailing across it, the cherries coming into bloom and already shedding their blossoms,+ “the willows by the river,” # their reflections now bowing and now soaring as the wind caught them—it was a novel sight for the visitor from the city, and one he was reluctant to leave.

Kaoru was thinking what a pity it would be not to call on the Eighth Prince. Could he avoid all these inquiring eyes and row across the river? Would he be thought guilty of indiscretion? As he was debating the problem, a poem was delivered from the prince:

“Parting the mist, a sound comes in on the wind,

But waves of white, far out on the stream, roll between us.”

The writing, a strong, masculine hand, was most distinguished.

Well, thought Niou—from precisely the place that had been on his mind. He himself would send an answering poem:

“On far shore and near, the waves may keep us apart.

Come in all the same, 0 breeze of the river Uji!”

Kaoru set out to deliver it. In attendance upon him were men known to be particularly fond of music. Summoning up all their artistry, the company played “The River Music” * as they were rowed across. The landing that had been put out from the river pavilion of the prince's villa, and indeed the villa itself, seemed in the best of taste, again quite in harmony with the setting. Cleaned and newly appointed in preparation for a distinguished visit, it was a house of a very different sort from the one in which they had passed the night. The furnishings, screens of wattled bamboo and the like, simple and yet in very good taste, were right for a mountain dwelling. Unostentatiously, the Eighth Prince brought out antique kotos and lutes of remarkable timbre. The guests, tuning their instruments to the _ichikotsu_ mode,+ played “Cherry-Blossom Girl,” # and when they had finished they pressed their host to favor them with something on that famous seven-stringed koto of his. He was diffident, and only joined in with a short strain from time to time. Perhaps because it was a style they were not used to, the young men found that it had a somewhat remote sound to it, a certain depth and mystery, strangely moving.

As for the repast to which they were treated, it was most tasteful in an old-fashioned way, exactly what the setting asked for, and much superior to what they would have expected. There were in the neighborhood numbers of elderly people who, though not of royal blood, came from gentle families, and some who were distant relatives of the emperor himself. They had long wondered what the prince would do if such an occasion were to arise, and as many of them as were able came to help; and the guests found that their cups were being kept full by attendants who, though not perhaps dressed in the latest fashions, could hardly have been called rustic. No doubt there were a number of youngsters whose hearts were less than calm at the thought of ladies' apartments. Matters were even worse for Niou. How constricting it was, to be of a rank that forbade lighthearted adventures! Unable to contain himself, he broke off a fine branch of cherry blossoms and, an elegantly attired page boy for his messenger, sent it across the river with a poem:

“I have come, the mountain cherries at their best,

To break off sprays of blossom for my cap.”

And it would seem that he added: “Then stayed the night, enamored of the fields.”**

What could they send by way of answer? The princesses were at a loss. But they must send something, that much was sure, said the old women. This was hardly the occasion for a really formal poem, and it would be rude to wait too long. Finally Oigimi composed a reply and had Nakanokimi set it down for her:

“It is true that you have fought your way through the mountain tangles, and yet

“For sprays to break, the springtime wanderer pauses

Before the rustic fence, and wanders on.”

The hand was subtle and delicate.

And so music answered music across the river. It was as Niou had requested, the wind did not propose to keep them apart. Presently Ko~bai arrived, upon order of the emperor; and with great crowds milling about Niou made a noisy departure. His attendants looked back again, and he promised himself that he would find an excuse for another visit. The view was magical, with the blossoms at their best and layers of mist trailing among them. Many were the poems in Chinese and in Japanese that the occasion produced, but I did not trouble myself to ask about them.