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This, too, is a tale of long ago. When the Cloistered Emperor Shirakawa was staying at the Toba Palace, he decided to amuse himself by having the attendants of the northern quarters stage a provincial governor’s departure for his province. A man named Hisataka, head of the Bureau of Buddhist and Foreign Affairs, was chosen to play the governor and made to wear silk robes over his formal court dress. The other men of the fifth rank were to serve as outriders, while the officers of the palace guards were to wear quivers at their waists. Since His Majesty would be watching, each man dressed in brocade and figured Chinese silk, determined not to be outdone. Minamoto no Yukitō, a lieutenant of the Left Gate Guards, took particular pains over his appearance. Thinking that if people saw him beforehand they would grow used to the sight, he went to wait at someone’s house near the palace. There he called a servant and said, “Here, you! Go over by the palace and see what’s happening,” and sent him off. The servant did not return. “Why is it taking so long?” Yukitō wondered. “We were told to assemble at the hour of the Dragon, but with all the delays, I suppose the procession won’t pass until noon or early afternoon.” As he sat waiting, he heard voices near the gate. “Ah, what a splendid sight it was! What a splendid sight!” At first he thought they must be talking about people still making their way to the palace, but then he heard, “Lord Genba looked so amusing in his governor’s outfit!” They went on: “The lieutenant of the Left Gate Guards wore brocade, and Lord Minamoto of the Military Guards had embroidery with gold designs.” Puzzled, Yukitō called, “Here, you!” The man he had sent to look came out smiling. “Never has there been such a spectacle, sir! The Kamo Festival is nothing beside it. The way they passed before His Majesty’s viewing stand—my eyes could scarcely take it all in!” “Well, then, what’s happening?” Yukitō asked. “It’s all over now, sir.” “What? Why didn’t you come and tell me?” “Whatever can you mean, sir? You told me to go and see, so I watched it all very carefully, without so much as blinking.” There was simply nothing to be said. Before long an order came down: “Yukitō’s failure to attend the performance is utterly outrageous. See that he is kept under strict confinement.” He had been confined for more than twenty days when His Majesty heard the whole story, burst out laughing, and had him released—or so they say.