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Rh the bank. The day was cloudless and it was a pretty sight indeed to see the little messengers come out into the sunshine from behind a trailing patch of mist.

It had not been found convenient to set up the regular Musicians’ Tent; but a platform had been constructed under the portico that ran in front of the Empress’s apartments, and chairs had been borrowed that the musicians might be seated in foreign fashion. The little boys advanced as far as the foot of the steps, their offerings held aloft in their hands. Here they were met by incense-bearers who conveyed the bowls to the grand altar and adding their contents to that of the holy flower-vessels, pronounced the ritual of dedication. At this point Yūgiri arrived, bearing a poem from Murasaki: ‘Lover of Autumn, whom best it pleases that pine-crickets should chirp amid the withered grass, forgive the butterflies that trespass from my garden of flowers.’ The Empress smiled. To her own gift of autumn leaves these fictive birds and butterflies were the belated response.

Her ladies, who were at first loyal to the season with which their mistress was identified, had been somewhat shaken in their allegiance by yesterday’s astonishing excursion and came back assuring the Empress that her preference would not survive a visit to the rival park.

After the acceptance of their offerings, the Birds performed the Kalyavinka Dance. The accompanying music was backed by the warbling of real nightingales; while afar off, with strangely happy effect, there sounded the faint and occasional cry of some crane or heron on the lake. All too soon came the wild and rapid passage which marks the close.