3

He came calling one day when the chrysanthemums, tinged by the frost, were at their best and sad autumn showers were falling. They talked of the wisteria lady. The giri's answers, calm and at the same time very youthful, quite delighted him. Was there no one who was capable of appreciating her many virtues and might be persuaded to look after her? He remembered the deliberations and the final decision when the Suzaku emperor had entrusted his daughter* to Genji. There had been those who argued that it was improper for a princess of the blood to marry a commoner and that she would do better to remain single. And now she had an unusually talented son who was the strongest support a mother could hope for, and no one could have said that she had slipped in the smallest degree from her high position. Had it not been for her marriage to Genji, she might have come upon sad days, no one could guess of what description, and she had her marriage to thank that the world still respected her. Worrying the problem over, the emperor concluded that he must see to the Second Princess's future while he still occupied the throne. And where could he find a more appropriate candidate for her hand than Kaoru, a better solution than to follow in the second generation the precedent of the first? Ranged beside other royal consorts, he would not seem in the least out of place. There did appear, it was true, to be someone of whom he was fond, but he was not a man likely to let any breath of scandal damage his relations with the Second Princess. And of course it was unthinkable that he would remain forever single. He must give some hint of his feelings, the emperor told himself over and over again, before the young man forestalled him by taking a wife.

In the evening, as he and the Second Princess were at a game of Go, a shower passed and the chrysanthemums caught the light of the autumn sunset.

The emperor summoned a page.

“Who is in attendance upon us tonight?”

“His Highness the minister of central affairs, His Highness Prince Kanzuke,* and Lord Minamoto, the councillor, are with us, Your Majesty.”

“Call the last, if you will.”

Kaoru came as ordered. The emperor's choice was not surprising. Everything about the young man was remarkable, even the fragrance that announced his approach.

“Such gentle showers as we are having tonight. They cry out for music; but of course our mourning would not permit it. I can think of no better a pursuit 'for whiling away the days' than a game of Go.” *

He pulled up a Go board. Used to these companionable services, Kaoru settled down for a game.

“There is something I might wager,” said the emperor, “but I am not quite sure that I have the courage. Let me see, now—what else might there be?”

Immediately guessing what he meant, Kaoru played very soberly. The emperor lost the third game.

“How very disappointing. Well, I will let you break off a blossom.+ Go choose one, if you will.”

Kaoru went down into the garden and broke off one of the finer chrysanthemums. Returning, he offered a cautious verse:

“If I had found it at a common hedge,

I might have plucked it quite to suit my fancy.”

The emperor replied:

“A single chrysanthemum, left in a withered garden,

Withstands the frost, its color yet unfaded.”

There were such hints from time to time, some through intermediar-ies. Kaoru was not one to rush in headlong pursuit. He had no compelling desire to many, and through the years he had turned aside hopeful talk of more than one deprived though attractive young lady. It would not do for the hermit to talk now (an odd way, perhaps, to put the matter) of going back into business; and surely there would be any number of young men willing to brush aside all other commitments in their eagerness to do what they could for a royal princess. He suspected that, in his own case, the conclusions might be somewhat different were the princess one of the empress's daughters; but he quickly put the thought away as unworthy.