to be asleep; but as soon as it was broad daylight got up and left the room.
Next day there was a great deal of New Year’s entertaining to be done, which was fortunate, for it enabled him to save his face. As usual, almost the whole Court was there,—princes, ministers and noblemen. There was a concert and on Genji’s part a grand distribution of trinkets and New Year presents. This party was an occasion of great excitement for the more elderly and undistinguished of the guests; and it may be imagined with what eagerness it was this year awaited by the younger princes and noblemen, who were perpetually on the look-out for adventure and flattered themselves that the new inmate[1] of Genji’s palace was by no means beyond their reach. A gentle evening breeze carried the scent of fruit-blossom into every corner of the house; in particular, most fragrant of all, the plum-trees in Murasaki’s garden were now in full bloom. It was at that nameless hour which is neither day nor night. The concert had begun; delicate harmonies of flute and string filled the air, and at last came the swinging measure of ‘Well may this Hall grow rich and thrive,’[2] with its animated refrain ‘Oh, the saki-grass so sweet,’ in which Genji joined with excellent effect. This indeed was one of his peculiar gifts, that whatever was afoot, whether music, dancing or what not, he had only to join in and every one else was at once inspired to efforts of which they would not have imagined themselves capable.
Meanwhile the ladies of the household, in the seclusion of their rooms, heard little more than a confused din of horse-
