4

In the autumn Kaoru was promoted to councillor of the middle or-der. * The distinction of his manner and appearance was more pronounced as he rose in rank and office, and the thoughts that tormented him made similar gains. They were more tenacious than when the doubts about his birth had still been vague and unformed. As he tried to imagine how it had been in those days, so long ago now, when his father had sickened and died, he wanted to lose himself in prayers and rites of atonement.+ He had been strongly drawn to the old woman at Uji, and he tried circumspectly to let her know of his feelings.

It was now the Seventh Month. He had been away from Uji, he thought, for a very long while.

Autumn had not yet come to the city, but by the time he reached Mount Otowa the breeze was cool, and in the vicinity of Mount Oyama autumn was already at the tips of the branches. The shifting mountain scenery delighted him more and more as he approached Uji.

The prince greeted him with unusual warmth, and talked on and on of the melancholy thoughts that were so much with him.

“If you should find reasonable occasion, after I am gone,” he said, guiding the conversation to the problem of his daughters, “do please come and see them from time to time. Put them on your list, if you will, of the people you do not mean to forget.”

“You may remember that you have already brought the matter up once or twice before, and you have my word that I shall not forget. Not that you can expect a great deal of me, I am afraid. All my impulses are to run away from the world, and it does not seem to have very strong hopes for me in any case. No, I do not hold a great deal in reserve. But for as long as I live, my determination will not waver.”

The prince was much relieved. A late moon, breaking through the clouds with a soft, clean radiance, seemed about to touch the western hills. Having said his prayers, to which the scene lent an especial dignity, he turned to talk of old times.

“How is it at court these days? On autumn nights people used to gather in His Majesty's chambers. There was always something a little too good, a little ostentatious—or it so seemed to me—about the way the famous musicians lent their presence to this group and the next one. What was really worth notice was the way His Majesty's favorites and the ladies of the bedchamber and the rest would be chatting away as pleasantly as you could wish, and all the while you knew that they were in savage competition. And then, as quiet came over the palace, you would have the real music, leaking out from their several rooms. Each strain seemed to be pleading its own special cause.

“Women are the problem, good for a moment of pleasure, offering nothing of substance. They are the seeds of turmoil, and it is not hard to see why we are told that their sins are heavy. I wonder if you have ever tried to imagine what a worry a child is for its father. A son is no problem. But a daughter—there is a limit to worrying, after all, and the sensible thing would be to recognize the hopeless for what it is. But fathers will go on worrying.”

He spoke as if in generalities; but could there be any doubt that he was really speaking of himself and his daughters?

“I have told you of my feelings about the world,” said Kaoru. “One result of them has been that I have not mastered a single art worthy of the name. But music—yes, I know how useless it is, and still I have had a hard time giving it up. I do have a good precedent, after all. You will remember that music made one of the apostles* jump up and dance.”

He had been longing, he continued, to have more of the music of which he had caught that one tantalizing snatch. The prince thought this might be the occasion for a sort of introduction. He went to the princesses' rooms. There came a soft strain on a koto, and that was all. The light, impromptu melody, here where it was always quiet and where now there was not one other human sound, with the sky beginning to take on the colors of dawn, quite entranced Kaoru. But the princesses could not be persuaded to give more.

“Well,” said their father, going to the altar, “I have done what I can to bring you together. You have years ahead of you, and I must leave the rest to you.

“I go, this hut of grass will dry and fall.

But this solemn undertaking must last forever.

“Something tells me that we will not meet again.” He was in tears. “You must think me an insufferable complainer.”

“Your'hut of grass' has sealed a pledge eternal.

It will not fall, though ages come and go.

“The wrestling meet will keep me busy for a while, but I will see you again when it is out of the way.”