<P 603>
which the matting was fringed. She guided her plectrum with such graceful
assurance through a quiet melody that it was almost more of a pleasure to
the eye than to the ear. One thought of fruit and flowers on the same
orange branch, "awaiting the Fifth Month."
Everything he heard and saw told Yu~giri of a most decorous and
Formal assembly. He would have liked to look inside the blinds, most
especially at Murasaki, who would doubtless have taken on a calmer and
more mature beauty since he had had that one glimpse of her. As for the
Third Princess, only a slight shift of fate and she might have been his
rather than his father's. The Suzaku emperor had more than once hinted
at something of the sort to Yu~giri himself and mentioned the possibility
to others. Yu~giri should have been a little bolder. Yet it was not as if he
had lost his senses over the princess. Certain evidences of immaturity had
had the effect not exactly of cheapening her in his eyes but certainly of
cooling his ardor. He could have no possible designs on Murasaki. She had
through the years been a remote and lofty symbol of all that was admira-
ble. He only wished that he had some way of showing, some disinterested,
gentlemanly way, how very high was his regard for her. He was a model
of prudence and sobriety and would not have dreamed of doing anything
unseemly.
It was late and rather chilly when the first rays of "the moon for which
one lies in wait" came forth.
"The misty moon of spring is not the best, really," said Genji. "In the
autumn the singing of the insects weaves a fabric with the music. The
combination is rather wonderful."
"It is true," replied Yu~giri, "that on an autumn night there is some-
times not a trace of a shadow over the moon and the sound of a koto or
a flute can seem as high and clear as the night itself. But the sky can have
a sort of put-on look about it, like an artificial setting for a concert, and
the autumn flowers insist on being gazed at. It is all too pat, too perfect.
But in the spring--the moon comes through a haze and a quiet sound of
flute joins it in a way that is not possible in the autumn. No, a flute is not
really its purest on an autumn night. It has long been said that it is the
spring night to which the lady is susceptible, and I am inclined to accept
the statement. The spring night is the one that brings out the quiet harmo-
nies."
"The ancients were unable to resolve the dispute, and I think it would
be presumptuous of their inferior descendants to seek to do so. It is a fact
that the major modes of spring are commonly given precedence over the
minor modes of autumn, and so you may be right.
"His Majesty from time to time has the famous masters in to play for
him, and the conclusion seems to be that the ones who deserve the name
are fewer and fewer. Am I wrong in suspecting that a person has less to
<P 604>
learn from them? Our ladies here may not be on the established list of
masters, but I doubt that they would seem hopelessly out of place. Of
course, it may be that I have been away from things for so long that I no
longer have a very good ear. That would be a pity. Yet I do sometimes find
myself marveling that a little practice in this house brings out such talents.
How does what you have heard tonight compare with what is chosen for
His Majesty to hear?"
"I am very badly informed," said Yu~giri, "but I do have a thought or
two in the matter. It may be a confession of ignorance of the great tradition
to say that Kashiwagi on the Japanese koto and Prince Hotaru on the lute
are to be ranked among the masters. I had thought them quite without
rivals, but this evening I have been forced to change my mind. I am filled
with astonishment at what I have heard. Might it be that I had been
prepared for something more casual, more easygoing? You have asked me
to be voice and percussion, and I have felt very inadequate indeed. Lord
To~ no Chu~jo~ is said to be the best of them all on the japanese koto, the
one who has the widest and subtlest variety of touches to go with the
seasons. It is true that one rarely hears anything like his koto, but I confess
that tonight I have been treated to skills that seem to me every bit as
remarkable."
"Oh, surely you exaggerate." Genji was smiling proudly. "But I do
have a fine set of pupils, do I not? I cannot claim credit for the lute, but
even there I think residence in this house has made a difference. I thought
it most extraordinary off in the hinterlands and I think it has improved
since it came to the city."
The women were exchanging amused glances that he should be claim-
ing credit even for the Akashi lady.
"It is very difficult indeed to master any instrument," he continued.
"The possibilities seem infinite and nothing seems complete and finished.
But there are few these days who even try, and I suppose it should be cause
for satisfaction when someone masters any one small aspect. The seven-
stringed koto is the unmanageable one. We are told that in ancient times
there were many who mastered the whole tradition of the instrument, and
made heaven and earth their own, and softened the hearts of demons and
gods. Taking into this one instrument all the tones and overtones of all the
others, they found joy in the depths of sorrow and transformed the base
and mean into the fine and proud, and gained wealth and universal fame.
There was a time, before the tradition had been established in japan, when
the most enormous trouble was required of anyone who sought to learn
the art. He must spend years in strange lands and give up everything, and
even then only a few came back with what they had gone out to seek. In
the old chronicles there are stories of musicians who moved the moon and
the stars and brought unseasonal snows and frosts and conjured up tem-
pests and thunders. In our day there is scarcely anyone who has even
<P 605>
mastered the whole of the written lore, and the full possibilities are enor-
mous. So little these days seems to make even a beginning--because the
Good Law is in its decline, I suppose.
"It may be that people are intimidated. The seven-stringed koto was
the instrument that moved demons and gods, and inadequate mastery had
correspondingly unhappy results. What other instrument is to be at the
center of things, setting the tone for all the others? Ours is a day of very
sad decline. Only a madman, we say, would be so obsessed with an art as
to abandon parents and children and go wandering off over Korea and
China. But we need not make quite such extreme sacrifices. Keeping within
reasonable bounds, why should we not try to make the b inning that
seems at least possible? The difficulties in mastering a single mode are
indescribable, and there are so many modes and so many complicated
melodies. Back in the days when I was a rather enthusiastic student of
music, I went through the scores that have been preserved in this country,
and presently there was no one to teach me. Yet I know that I am infinitely
less competent than the old masters; and it is sad to think that no one is
prepared to learn from me even the little that I know, and so the decline
must continue."
It was true, thought Yu~giri, feeling very inadequate.
"If one or another of my princely grandchildren should live up to the
promise he shows now and I myself still have a few years before me, then
perhaps by the time he is grown I can pass on what I know. It is very little,
I am afraid. I think that the Second Prince shows very considerable prom-
ise."
It pleased the Akashi lady to think that she had had a part in this
glory.
As she lay down to rest, the Akashi princess pushed her koto towards
Murasaki, who relinquished hers to Genji. They played an intimate sort
of duet, the Saibara "Katsuragi," very light and happy. In better voice
than ever, Genji sang the lyrics over a second time. The moon rose higher
and the color and scent of the plum blossoms seemed to be higher and
brighter too. The Akashi princess had a most engagingly girlish touch on
the thirteen-stringed koto. The tremolo, bright and clear, had in it some-
thing of her mother's style. Murasaki's touch, strangely affecting, seemed
quiet and solemn by comparison, and her cadenzas were superb. For the
envoi there was a shift to a minor mode, somehow friendlier and more
approachable. In "The Five Airs" the touch of the plectrum against the
fifth and sixth strings of the seven-stringed koto is thought to present the
supreme challenge, but the Third Princess had a fine sureness and lucid-
ity. One looked in vain for signs of immaturity. The mode an appropriate
<P 606>
one for all the strains of spring and autumn, she did not let her attention
waver and she gave evidence of real understanding. Genji felt that he had
won new honors as a teacher.
The little pipers had been charming, most solemnly attentive to their
responsibilities.
"You must be sleepy," said Genji. "It seemed as if we had only begun
and I wanted to hear more and more. It was silly of me to think of picking
the best when everything was so good, and so the night went by. You must
forgive me."
He urged a sip of wine on the little _sho~_ piper and rewarded him with
a singlet, one of his own favorites. A lady had something for the little
flutist, a pair of trousers and a lady's robe cut from an unassuming fabric.
The Third Princess offered a cup to Yu~giri and presented him with a set
of her own robes.
"Now this seems very strange and unfair," said Genji. "If there are to
be such grand rewards, then surely the teacher should come first. You are
all very rude and thoughtless."
A flute, a very fine Korean one, was pushed towards him from beneath
the Third Princess's curtains. He smiled as he played a few notes. The
guests were beginning to leave, but Yu~giri took up his son's flute and
played a strain marvelous in its clean strength. They were all his very own
pupils, thought Genji, to whom he had taught his very own secrets, and
they were all accomplished musicians. He knew of course that he had had
superior material to work with.
The moon was high and bright as Yu~giri set off with his sons. The
extraordinary sound of Murasaki's koto was still with him. Kumoinokari,
his wife, had had lessons from their late grandmother, but had been taken
away before she had learned a great deal. She quite refused to let him hear
her play. She was a sober, reliable sort of lady whose family duties took
all her time. To Yu~giri she seemed somewhat backward in the
accomplishments. She was her most interesting when, as did sometimes
happen, she allowed herself a fit of temper or jealousy.
Genji returned to the east wing. Murasaki stayed behind to talk with
the Third Princess and it was daylight when she too returned. They slept
late.
"Our princess has developed into a rather good musician, I think. How
did she seem to you?"
"I must confess that I had very serious doubts when I caught the first
notes. But now she is very good indeed, so good that I can scarcely believe
it is the same person. Of course I needn't be surprised, seeing how much
of your time it has taken."
"It has indeed. I am a serious teacher and I have led her every step of
the way. The seven-stringed koto is such a bother that I would not try to
teach it to just anyone, but her father and brother seemed to be saying that
I owed her at least that much. I was feeling a little undutiful at the time,
and I thought I should do something to seem worthy of the trust.
<P 607>
" Back in the days when you were still a child I was busy with other
things and I am afraid I neglected your lessons. Nor have I done much
better in recent years. I have frittered my time away and gone on neglecting
you. You did me great honor last night. It was beautiful. I loved the effect
it had on Yu~giri. "
Murasaki was now busy being grandmother to the royal children. She
did nothing that might have left her open to charges of bad judgment. Hers
was a perfection, indeed, that was somehow ominous. It aroused forebod-
ings. The evidence is that such people are not meant to have long lives.
Genji had known many women and he knew what a rarity she was. She
was thirty-seven this year..
He was thinking over the years they had been together. "You must
be especially careful this year. You must overlook none of the prayers and
services. I am very busy and sometimes careless, and I must rely on you
to keep track of things. If there is something that calls for special arrange-
ments I can give the orders. It is a pity that your uncle, the bishop, is no
longer living. He was the one who really knew about these things.
"I have always been rather spoiled and there can be few precedents
for the honors I enjoy. The other side of the story is that I have had more
than my share of sorrow. The people who have been fond of me have left
me behind one after another, and there have been events in more recent
years that I think almost anyone would call very sad. As for nagging little
worries, it almost seems as if I were a collector of them. I sometimes
wonder if it might be by way of compensation that I have lived a longer
life than I would have expected to. You, on the other hand--I think that
except for our years apart you have been spared real worries. There are the
troubles that go with the glory of being an empress or one of His Majesty's
other ladies. They are always being hurt by the proud people they must
be with and they are engaged in a competition that makes a terrible
demand on their nerves. You have lived the life of a cloistered maiden, and
there is none more comfortable and secure. It is as if you had never left
