Read it through once

When they had played several duets the big zithern was removed, and Tō no Chūjō played a few pieces on his six-stringed Japanese zithern, using the harsh ‘major’[74] tuning which was appropriate to the season. Played not too solemnly and by so skilful a hand as Chūjō’s, this somewhat strident mode was very agreeable. On the boughs outside the window only a few ragged leaves were left; while within several groups of aged gentlewomen clustering with their heads together behind this or that curtain-of-state, moved by Chūjō’s playing were shedding the tears that people at that time of life are only too ready to let fall upon any provocation. ‘It needs but a light wind to strip the autumn boughs,’ quoted Chūjō, and continuing the quotation, he added: ‘“It cannot be the music of my zithern that has moved them. Though they know it not, it is the sad beauty of this autumn evening that has provoked their sudden tears.” But come, let us have more music before we part.’ Upon this Princess Ōmiya and her daughter played _The Autumn Wind_ and Tō no Chūjō sang the words with so delightful an effect that every one present was just thinking how much his presence added to the amenity of any gathering, when yet another visitor arrived. Yūgiri thinking that such an evening was wasted if not spent in agreeable company, had come over from Genji’s palace to the Great Hall. ‘Here she is,’ said Tō no Chūjō, leading the boy towards the curtain-of-state behind which Kumoi was now sitting. ‘You see she is a little shy of you and has taken refuge behind her curtains.’ And then looking at Yūgiri: ‘I don’t believe all this reading is suiting you. Your father himself agrees with me; I know that learning easily becomes a useless and tedious thing if pushed beyond a reasonable point. However, in your case he must have had some particular reason for supposing that academic honours would be useful. I do not know what was in his mind, but be that as it may, I am sure it is bad for you to be bending all day over your books!’ And again: ‘I am sure that you ought sometimes to have a change. Come now, play a tune on my flute. Your masters can have no objection to that, for is not the flute itself the subject of a hundred antique and learned stories?’ Yūgiri took the flute and played a tune or two with a certain boyish faltering, but with very agreeable effect. The zitherns were laid aside and while Chūjō beat the measure softly with his hands, Yūgiri sang to them the old ballad ‘Shall I wear my flowered dress?’ ‘This is just the sort of concert that Genji so much enjoys,' said Tō no Chūjō, ‘and that is why he is always trying to get free from the ties of business. Nor do I blame him; for the world is an unpleasant place at best, and surely one might as well spend one’s time doing what one likes, instead of toiling day after day at things that do not interest one in the least.’