Read it through once

Later on, the dance called ‘Warbling of the Spring Nightingales,’ was performed, and Suzaku, remembering that famous Feast of Flowers[84] years ago said to Genji with a sigh: ‘What wonderful days those were! We shall not see their like again.’ There were indeed many incidents belonging to that time which even now Genji looked back upon with considerable emotion, and when the dance was over, he handed the wine bowl to Suzaku, reciting as he did so: ‘Spring comes, and still the sweet birds warble as of old; but altered and bereft[85] are they that sit beneath the blossoming tree.’ To this Suzaku replied: ‘To-day the nightingales have come to tell me of the Spring. Else had no sunshine pierced the mists that hide my hermit’s-dwelling from the world’s pomp and pride.' It was now the turn of Prince Sochi no Miya, who had recently become President of the Board of War, to present the bowl. He did so, reciting the verse: ‘Speak not of change; unaltered through all ages[86] shall the flute preserve their song, the nightingales that in the spring-time warble on the swaying bough.’ This was said with a glance towards the Emperor, and in loud clear voice, that the compliment might not be missed. Ryōzen was indeed gratified by the graceful allusion, but as he took the bowl he answered modestly: ‘If birds still sing and a few faded blossoms deck the tree, it is but in remembrance of those happier days when Virtue ruled the world.’ This was said with great earnestness and humility. All the above poems were exchanged privately and only overheard by a few privileged persons, and there were others which did not get recorded at all. The pavilion of the musicians was some way off, and Suzaku suggested that those about him should send for their instruments and make a little music of their own. Sochi no Miya accordingly played on the lute, Tō no Chūjō on the Japanese zithern, while Suzaku himself played to the Emperor on the thirteen-stringed zithern. The Chinese zithern was as usual played by Genji. It was seldom that so gifted a band of performers chanced to meet in one place, and the concert that followed was of unforgettable beauty. Several of the courtiers present had good voices, and the songs ‘Was ever such a day!’ and the ‘Cherry Man’[87] were now performed. Finally torches were lit all round the edge of the island in the lake, and so the feast at last came to an end. But late as it was, Ryōzen felt that it would be uncivil on his part if he went away without paying his respects to Suzaku’s mother, Lady Kōkiden, who was living in the same house with him. Genji was naturally obliged to accompany him. The old lady received them in person and was evidently very much gratified by the visit. She had aged immensely since he last saw her; but here she still was, and it irritated him to think that she should hang on to life in this way, when a much younger woman like Fujitsubo was already in her grave. ‘My memory is not so good as it was,’ said Kōkiden, ‘but this visit of yours has brought back the old days to my mind more clearly than anything that has happened to me for a long time past.’ ‘Those upon whom I leaned have now been taken from me one after another,’ the Emperor replied, ‘and hitherto the year has had no spring-time for me. But my visit to your house to-day has at last dispelled my grief; I hope you will permit me to come here often....’ Genji too had to make a suitable speech, and had even to ask if he also might venture to call again. The procession left the house amid great scenes of popular enthusiasm, which painfully reminded the old lady of her complete failure to injure Prince Genji’s career. To govern he was born, and govern he would despite all her scheming. ‘Well, such is fate,’ she thought, and was almost sorry that she had wasted time contending against it.