95
: Large and learned volumes by the Chinese scholar Seu-ma
Ch'ien.
[96] The Merciful Buddha of the West Paradise.
[97] It is believed that this Buddha comes to welcome the departing
soul of the believer mounted on a rainbow-coloured cloud.
[98] The great Enryakuji on Mount Hiye, northeast of Kioto.
[99] A line from an old Chinese poem about Jofuku and Bunsei, seekers
of the herb of eternal life. When they entered the boat they were young
men, but were very old when they returned.
[100] The Japanese New Year ceremonies extend over three days.
[101] Both these little princes, grandsons of the Prime Minister,
eventually came to the throne.
[102] Toso: New Year's drink of spiced sake supposed to prolong life.
[103] The names of these colours are translated in modern terms.
The Japanese names of colours for dresses were all of colours in
combination, which often were called after flowers or plants. These
names could not convey the right idea. For instance, what is here
translated _old rose and white_, would be in those days called
_cherry_, intended to convey to the mind the thought of the cherry-tree
in bloom.
[104] Paper doors.
III
THE DIARY OF IZUMI SHIKIBU
A.D. 1002-1003
Many months had passed in lamenting the World,[1] more shadowy than
a dream. Already the tenth day of the Deutzia month was over. A
deeper shade lay under the trees and the grass on the embankment was
greener.[2] These changes, unnoticed by any, seemed beautiful to
her, and while musing upon them a man stepped lightly along behind
the hedge. She was idly curious, but when he came towards her she
recognized the page of the late prince.[3] He came at a sorrowful
moment, so she said, "Is your coming not long delayed? To talk over the
past was inclined." "Would it not have been presuming?--Forgive me--In
mountain temples have been worshipping. To be without ties is sad, so
wishing to take service again I went to Prince Sochino-miya."
"Excellent! that Prince is very elegant and is known to me. He cannot
be as of yore?" [i.e. unmarried.] So she said, and he replied, "No,
but he is very gracious. He asked me whether I ever visit you
nowadays--'Yes, I do,' said I; then, breaking off this branch of
tachibana[4] flowers, His Highness replied, 'Give this to her, [see]
how she will take it.' The Prince had in mind the old poem:
_The scent of tachibana flowers in May_
_Recalls the perfumed sleeves of him who is no longer here._
So I have come--what shall I say to him?"
It was embarrassing to return an oral message through the page, and
the Prince had not written; discontented, yet wishing to make some
response, she wrote a poem and gave it to the page:
_That scent, indeed, brings memories_
_But rather, to be reminded of that other,_
_Would hear the cuckoo's[5] voice._
The Prince was on the veranda of his palace, and as the page approached
him with important face, he led him into an inner room saying, "What is
it?" The page presented the poem.
The Prince read it and wrote this answer:
_The cuckoo sings on the same branch_
_With voice unchanged,_
_That shall you know._
His Highness gave this to the page and walked away, saying, "Tell it to
no one, I might be thought amorous." The page brought the poem to the
lady. Lovely it was, but it seemed wiser not to write too often [so did
not answer].
On the day following his first letter this poem was sent:
_To you I betrayed my heart--_
_Alas! Confessing_
_Brings deeper grief,_
_Lamenting days._
Feeling was rootless, but being unlearned in loneliness, and attracted,
she wrote an answer:
_If you lament to-day_
_At this moment your heart_
_May feel for mine--_
_For in sorrow_
_Months and days have worn away._
He wrote often and she answered--sometimes--and felt her loneliness a
little assuaged. Again she received a letter. After expressing feelings
of great delicacy:
_[I would] solace [you] with consoling words_
_If spoken in vain_
_No longer could be exchanged._
To talk with you about the departed one; how would it be
[for you] to come in the evening unobtrusively?
Her answer:
As I hear of comfort I wish to talk with you, but being
an uprooted person there is no hope of my standing
upright. I am footless [meaning, I cannot go to you].
Thus she wrote, and His Highness decided to come as a private person.
It was still daylight, and he secretly called his servant Ukon-no-zo,
who had usually been the medium by which the letters had reached the
Prince, and said,
"I am going somewhere," The man understood and made preparations.
His Highness came in an humble palanquin and made his page announce
him. It was embarrassing. She did not know what to do; she could not
pretend to be absent after having written him an answer that very day.
It seemed too heartless to make him go back at once without entering.
Thinking, "I will only talk to him," she placed a cushion by the west
door on the veranda, and invited the Prince there. Was it because
he was so much admired by the world that he seemed to her unusually
fascinating? But this only increased her caution. While they were
talking the moon shone out and it became uncomfortably bright.
He: "As I have been out of society and living in the shade, I am not
used to such a bright place as this "--It was too embarrassing!--"Let
me come in where you are sitting; I will not be rude as others are. You
are not one to receive me often, are you?" "No indeed! What a strange
idea! Only to-night we shall talk together I think; never again!" Thus
lightly talking, the night advanced--"Shall we spend the night in this
way?" he asked:
_The night passes,_
_We dream no faintest dream--_
_What shall remain to me of this summer night?_
She:
_Thinking of the world_
_Sleeves wet with tears are my bed-fellows._
_Calmly to dream sweet dreams--_
_There is no night for that._
[Illustration: "HIS HIGHNESS CAME IN A HUMBLE PALANQUIN"]
He: "I am not a person who can leave my house easily. You may think me
rude, but my feeling for you grows ardent." And he crept into the room.
Felt horribly embarrassed, but conversed together and at daybreak he
returned.
Next day's letter:
In what way are you thinking about me? I feel anxiety--
_To you it may be a commonplace to speak of love,_
_But my feeling this morning--_
_To nothing can it be compared!_
She answered:
_Whether commonplace or not--_
_Thoughts do not dwell upon it_
_For the first time [I] am caught in the toils._
O what a person! What has she done! So tenderly the late Prince spoke
to her! She felt regret and her mind was not tranquil. Just then the
page came. Awaited a letter, but there was none. It disappointed her;
how much in love! When the page returned, a letter was given.
The letter:
_Were my heart permitted even to feel the pain of waiting!_
_It may be to wait is lesser pain--_
_To-night--not even to wait for--_
The Prince read it, and felt deep pity, yet there must be reserve [in
going out at night]. His affection for his Princess is unusually light,
but he may be thinking it would seem odd to leave home every night.
Perhaps he will reserve himself until the mourning for the late Prince
is over;[6] it is a sign that his love is not deep. An answer came
after nightfall.
_Had she said she was waiting for me with all her heart,_
_Without rest towards the house of my beloved_
_Should I have been impelled!_
When I think how lightly you may regard me!
Her answer:
Why should I think lightly of you?
_I am a drop of dew_
_Hanging from a leaf_
_Yet I am not unrestful_
_For on this branch I seem to have existed_
_From before the birth of the world._
Please think of me as like the unstable dew which cannot
even remain unless the leaf supports it.
His Highness received this letter. He wanted to come, but days passed
without realizing his wish. On the moon-hidden day [last day of month]
she wrote:
_If to-day passes_
_Your muffled voice of April, O cuckoo_
_When can I hear?_
She sent this poem, but as the Prince had many callers it could only
reach him the next morning.
His answer:
_The cuckoo's song in spring is full of pain._
_Listen and you will hear his song of summer_
_Full-throated from to-day._[7]
And so he came at last, avoiding public attention. The lady was
preparing herself for temple-going, and in the act of religious
purification. Thinking that the rare visits of the Prince betrayed his
indifference, and supposing that he had come only to show that he was
not without sympathy, she continued the night absorbed in religious
services, talking little with him.
In the morning the Prince said: "I have passed an extraordinary night"--
_New is such feeling for me_
_We have been near,_
_Yet the night passed and our souls have not met._
And he added, "I am wretched."
She could feel his distress and was sorry for him; and said:
_With endless sorrow my heart is weighted_
_And night after night is passed_
_Even without meeting of the eyelids._
For me this is not new.
May 2. The Prince wrote to her: "Are you going to the temple to-day?
When shall you be at home again:
Answer:
_In its season the time of gently falling rain will be over._
_To-night I will drag from its bed the root of ayame._[8]
Went to the temple and came back after two or three days to find a
letter [from him]:
My heart yearns for thee, and I wish to see thee, yet I
am discouraged by the treatment of the other night. I am
sad and ashamed. Do not suppose that I remain at home
because my feeling is shallow.
_She is cold-hearted, yet I cannot forget her._
_Time wipes out bitterness, but deepens longings_
_Which to-day have overcome me._
Not slight is my feeling, although--
Her reply:
_Are you coming? Scarcely believable are your words,_
_For not even a shadow_
_Passes before my unfrequented dwelling._
The Prince came as usual unannounced. The lady did not believe that he
would come at all, and being tired out with the religious observances
of several days, fell asleep. No one noticed the gentle knocking at the
gate. He, on the other hand, had heard some rumours, and suspecting
the presence of another lover, quietly retired. A letter came on the
morning of the next day:
_I stood before your closed door_
_Never to be opened._
_Seeing, it became the symbol of your pitiless heart!_
I tasted the bitterness of love, and pitied myself.
Then she knew that he had come the night before--carelessly fallen
asleep!--and wrote back:
_How can you write the thought?_
_The door of precious wood was closely shut,_
_No way to read that heart._
All is thy suspicion--O that I could lay bare my heart
[to you]!
The next night he wanted to come again, yet he was advised against it.
He feared the criticism of the Chamberlain and Crown Prince, so his
visits became more and more infrequent. In the continuous rains the
lady gazed at the clouds and thought how the court would be talking
about them. She had had many friends; now there was only the Prince.
Though people invented various tales about her, she thought the truth
could never be known to any. The Prince wrote a letter about the
tedious rain:
_You are thinking only of the long rains_
_Forever falling everywhere._
_Into my heart also the rain falls--_
_Long melancholy days._
It was smile-giving to see that he seized upon every occasion to write
her a poem, and she also felt as he did that this was a time for
sentiment.
The reply:
_Unaware of the sadness in your heart,_
_Knowing only of the rain in mine._
And on another paper she wrote another poem:
_It passes, the very sorrowful life of the world--_
_By to-day's long_ { _rains_
{ _meditation it can be known_
_The_ { _high-water mark_
{ _flood will be exceeded._
Is it still long? [before you come].
The Prince read this letter and the messenger came back with his answer:
_Helpless man,_
_I am weary even of life._
_Not to you alone beneath the sky_
_Is rain and dulness._
For us both it is a stupid world.
It was the sixth day of the Fifth month--rain not yet stopped. The
Prince had been much more touched by her answer of the day before,
which was deeper in feeling, and on that morning of heavy rain he sent
with much kindness to inquire after her.
_Very terrible was the sound of rain ..._
_Of what was I thinking_
_All the long night through_
_Listening to the rain against the window?_
I was sheltered, but the storm was in my heart.
The lady wrote thus to the Prince, and he thought, "Not hopeless."
His poem:
_All the night through, it was of you I thought--_
_How is it in a house where is no other_
_To make rain forgotten?_
At noon people were talking about the flooding of the Kamo River, and
many went to see it, the Prince among them. He wrote:
How are you at present? I have just come back from
flood-seeing.
_The feeling of my heart, like the overflowing waters of the flood,_
_But deeper my heart's feeling._
Do you know this?
She wrote:
_Toward me the waters do not overflow._
_No depth lies there_
_Though the meadow is flooded._
Words are not enough.
In these words she replied to him; and his Highness made up his mind
to come, and ordered perfumery for himself. Just then his old nurse,
Jiju-no-Menoto, came up: "Where are you going?" she said,
"People are talking about it. She is no lady of high birth. If you
wish her to serve you, you may summon her here as a servant. Your
undignified goings-out are very painful for us. Many men go to her,
and some awkward thing may happen. All these improper things are
suggested by Ukon-no-Zo.[9] He accompanied the late Prince also. If
you wander out in the depths of night no good can come of it. I will
tell the Prime Minister[10] of the persons who accompany you in these
night visits. In the world there may be changes. No one can tell what
will happen to-morrow. The late Minister loved you much and asked the
present one to show you favour. You must keep yourself from these
indiscretions till worldly affairs are quite settled."
The Prince said: "Where shall I go? I am so bored, and am seeking
temporary recreation. People are foolish to make much of it."
He said this, although much hurt by the necessity for it. Besides that,
he thought her not unworthy of him and even wished to bring her to the
palace [as a concubine]. On the other hand, he reflected that in that
case things even more painful to hear would be said, and in his trouble
of mind days were passed.
At last he visited her. "I could not come in spite of my desires.
Please do not think that I neglect you. The fault is in you; I have
heard that there are many friends of yours who are jealous of me. That
makes me more reserved, and so many days have gone by."
The Prince talked gently, and said: "Now come for this night only.
There is a hidden place no one sees; there I can talk with tranquil
mind." The palanquin was brought near the veranda. She was forced to
enter it and went, without her own volition, with unsteady mind. She
kept thinking that people would know about it, but as the night was far
advanced no one found them out. The conveyance was quietly brought to a
corridor where no one was and he got out.
He whispered, "As the moon is very bright, get down quickly." She was
afraid, but hurriedly obeyed him. "Here there is no one to see us; from
this time we will meet here. At your honourable dwelling I am always
anxious about other men. I can never be at ease there." His words were
gentle, and when it was dawn he made her get into the palanquin and
said, "I wish to go with you, but as it is broad daylight I fear people
may think I have passed the night outside the Court."
He remained in the palace, and she on her way home thought of that
strange going out and of the rumours that would fly about--yet the
uncommonly beautiful features of the Prince at dawn were lingering in
her mind.
Her letter:
_Rather would I urge your early return at evening_
_Than ever again make you arise at dawn_
_It is so sorrowful._
His reply:
_To see you departing in the morning dew--_
_Comparing,_
_It were better to come back in the evening unsatisfied._
Let us drive away such thoughts. I cannot go out this
evening on account of the evil spirit [i.e., he might
encounter it]. Only to fetch you I venture.
She felt distress because this [sort of thing] could not go on always.
But he came with the same palanquin and said, "Hurry, hurry!" She felt
ashamed because of her maids, yet stole out into the carriage. At the
same place as last night voices were heard, so they went to another
building. At dawn he complained of the cock's crowing, and leading her
gently into the palanquin, went out [with her]. On the way he said, "At
such times as these, always come with me," and she--"How can it always
be so?" Then he returned.
Two or three days went by; the moon was wonderfully bright; she went to
the veranda to see it and there received a letter:
What are you doing at this moment? Are you gazing at the
moon?
_Are you thinking with me_
_Of the moon at the mountain's edge?_
_In memory lamenting the short sweet night--_
_Hearing the cock, awake too soon!_
More than usually pleasing was that letter, for her thoughts were then
dwelling on the bright moon-night when she was unafraid of men's eyes
at the Prince's palace.
The answer:
_That night_
_The same moon shone down--_
_Thinking so I gaze,_
_But unsatisfied is my heart,_
_And my eyes are not contented_
_With moon-seeing._
She mused alone until the day dawned. The next night the Prince came
again, but she knew not of it. A lady was living in the opposite house.
The Prince's attendant saw a palanquin stopping before it and said to
His Highness, "Some one has already come--there is a palanquin." "Let
us retire," said the Prince, and he went away. Now he could believe the
rumours. He was angry with her, yet being unable to make an end of it
he wrote: "Have you heard that I went to you last night? It makes me
unhappy that you don't know even that.
_Against the hill of pines where the maiden pines for me,_
_Waves were high--that I had seen._
_Yet to-day's sight, O ominous!"_[11]
She received the letter on a rainy day, O unlooked-for disaster! She
suspected slanderous tongues.
_You only are my always-waited-for island--_
_What waves can sweep it away!_
So she answered, but the Prince being somewhat troubled by the sight of
the previous night, did not write to her for a long time.
Yet at last:
_Love and misery in various shapes_
_Pass through my mind and never rest._
She wished to answer, but was ashamed to explain herself, so only wrote:
Let it be as you will, come or not, yet to part without
bitter feeling would lighten my sorrow.
From that time he seldom sent letters. One moon-bright night she was
lying with grieving thoughts. She envied the moon in its serene course
and could not refrain from writing to the Prince:
_In her deserted house_
_She gazes at the moon--_
_He is not coming_
_And she cannot reveal her heart--_
_There is none who will listen._
She sent her page to give the poem to Ukon-no-Zo. Just then the Prince
was talking with others before the King. When he retired from the
presence, Ukon-no-Zo offered the letter. "Prepare the palanquin," he
said, and he came to her. The lady was sitting near the veranda looking
at the sky, and feeling that some one was coming had had the sudare
rolled down. He was not in his court robe, but in his soft, everyday
wear, which was more pleasing to her eye. He silently placed his poem
before her on the end of his fan, saying, "As your messenger returned
too soon without awaiting my answer--" She drew it towards her with her
own.
The Prince seemed to think of coming in, but went out into the garden,
singing, "My beloved is like a dew-drop on a leaf." At last he came
nearer, and said: "I must go to-night. I came secretly, but on such
a bright night as this none can escape being seen. To-morrow I must
remain within for religious duties, and people will be suspicious if
I am not at home." He seemed about to depart, when she--"Oh, that a
shower might come! So another brightness, more sweet than the heavenly
one, might linger here for a while!" He felt that she was more amiable
than others had admitted. "Ah, dear one," he said, and came up for a
while, then went away, saying:
_Unwillingly urged by the moon on her cloudy track_
_His body is going out, but not his heart_
When he was gone she had the sudare rolled up and read his poem in the
moonlight.
_She is looking at the moon,_
_But her thoughts are all of me_
_Hearing this_
_It draws me to her side._
How happy! He seemed to have been thinking her a worthless woman, but
he has changed his mind, she thought. The Prince, on his side, thought
the lady would have some value for him when he wanted to be amused,
but even while he was thinking it, he was told that the Major-General
was her favourite and visited her in the daytime. Still others said,
"Hyobukyo is another of her lovers." The Prince was deterred by these
words and wrote no more.
One day His Highness's little page, who was the lover of one of her
maids, came to the house. While they were chattering the page was
asked if he had brought a letter, he answered: "No; one day my Lord
came here, but he found a palanquin at the gate. From that time he does
not write letters. Moreover, he has heard that others visit here."
When the boy was gone this was told. She was deeply humiliated. No
presumptuous thoughts nor desire for material dependence had been hers.
Only while she was loved and respected had she wished for intercourse.
Estrangement of any other kind would have been bearable, but her heart
was torn asunder to think that he should suspect her of so shameful
a thing. In the midst of mourning over her unfortunate situation, a
letter was brought her:
I am ill and much troubled these days. Of late I visited
your dwelling, but alas! at an unlucky time. I feel that
I am unmanly.
_Let it be--_
_I will not look toward the beach--_
_The seaman's little boat has rowed away._
Her answer:
You have heard unmentionable things about me. I am
humiliated and it is painful for me to write any more.
Perhaps this will be the last letter.
_Off the shore of_ { _aimlessness_
{ _Sode_
_With burning heart and dripping sleeves,_
_I am he who drifts in the seaman's boat._
It was already the Seventh month. On the seventh day she received many
letters from elegant persons in deference to the celestial lovers,[12]
but her heart was not touched by them. She was only thinking that
she was utterly forgotten by the Prince, who had never lost such an
opportunity to write to her; but [at last] there came a poem:
_Alas! that I should become like the Herder-God_
_Who can only gaze at the Weaving One_
_Beyond the River of Heaven._
The lady saw that he could not forget her and she was pleased.
Her poem:
_I cannot even look towards that shore_
_Where the Herder-God waits:_
_The lover stars also might avoid me._
His Highness would read, and he would feel that he must not desert her.
Towards the moon-hidden day [end of the month] he wrote to her:
I am very lonely. Please write to me sometimes as to one
of your friends.
Her reply:
_Because you do not wake you cannot hear--_
_The wind is sighing in the reeds--_
_Ah, nights and nights of Autumn!_
The messenger who took the poem came back with one from him:
O my beloved, how can you think my sleep untroubled?
Lately sad thoughts have been mine and never sleep is
sound.
_The wind blows over the reeds--_
_I will not sleep, but listen_
_Whether its sigh thrills my heart._
After two or three days, towards evening, he came unexpectedly and made
his palanquin draw into the courtyard. As she had not yet seen him in
the daylight, he was abashed, he said, but there was no help for it. He
went away soon and did not write for so long that anxiety began to fill
her heart, so at last she sent:
_Wearily the Autumn days drag by--_
_From him no message--_
_Boding silence!_
Sweet are man's promises, but how different is the heart!
Then he wrote that, though he never forgot her, of late he could not
leave the palace.
_Though days pass_
_And others may forget_
_I can never lose the thought_
_That meeting in the evening_
_Of an Autumn day._
The lady was pitiable, having no one to depend on, and tried to sustain
herself with the uncertain consolations of a life of sentiment.
Reflection increased her wretchedness, and when the eighth month came
she went to Ishiyama Temple[13] to revive her doleful spirit intending
to remain there for seven days.
One day the Prince said to his page: "It is a long time since I wrote;
here is a letter for her." The page replied: "I went to her house the
other day and heard that she had lately gone to Ishiyama Temple."
"Then--it is already late in the day--to-morrow morning you shall go
there." He wrote a letter and the page went to Ishiyama with it.
Her mind was not in the presence of Buddha, but at home in the Royal
City. She was thinking that were she loved by him as at the beginning
there would have been no wandering like that. She was very sad, yet
sadness made her pray to the Buddha with all her heart.
Perceiving that some one approached, she looked down, wondering who it
might be. It was the Prince's page! As she had just been thinking of
the Prince, she hurriedly sent her maid to question him. The letter was
brought and opened with more agitation than usual. It was as follows:
You seem to be steeped in Buddha's teaching. It would
have given me pleasure to have been informed of it.
Surely I am not loved so deeply that I am a hindrance
to your devotion to Buddha. Only to think of your calm
makes me jealous.
The poem:
_Do you feel that my soul wanders after you,_
_Passing across the Barrier?_
_O ceaseless longing!_
When shall you return?
When she was in his neighbourhood he wrote but seldom--gratifying that
he should send a letter so far!
The answer:
_The way of_ { _meeting_
{ _Omi_ [14]
_She was thinking that he had quite forgotten--_
_Who can it be that is coming across the barrier?_
You ask when I shall go back--it is as yet uncertain.
_On the Mount_ { _Nagara_
{ _while being_
_My yearning is towards the_ { _Biwa lake_
{ _open water_
{ _Uchi de no Hama_
{ _The beach of going out_
_Does not lie towards_ { _Miyako_
{ _the royal city._
The Prince read her poems and said to the page: "I am sorry to trouble
you, but please go once more."
His poem:
_I sought for you in the_ { _Osaka Yama_
{ _mount of meeting_
_But though never forgetting you_
_My way was lost in the trackless valley._
His second poem:
_Being overwhelmed with sorrow_
_I wished to remain in retirement_
_But_ { _Omi no umi_
{ _the lake of meeting_
_Is beyond_ { _Uchi de no Hama_
{ _the beach of going out._
She wrote back only poems:
_Tears which could not be restrained at the barrier_
_Flow towards the_ { _Omi no umi--_
{ _lake of meeting_
And on the margin she wrote:
_Let me try you--_
_My own heart also,_
_Come and tempt me towards the royal city._
His Highness had never thought of going so far [to seek her], but he
thought he must go to her as he had received such a letter. He came and
they went back together.
His poem:
_Infelicitous love! Although entered into the Way of Eternal Law.[15]_
_Who was it came_
_And tempted back to the Royal City?_
The answer:
_Out of the mountain to the darker path I wander,_
_Because I met you once more._
Towards the moon-hidden day a devastating wind blew hard. It rained and
she was even sadder than usual, when a letter was brought. She thought
the Prince had not lost a fit occasion to inquire for her, and she
could harbour no hard thoughts of him.
His poem:
_In sorrow I gaze upon the sky of Autumn_
_The clouds are in turmoil_
_And the wind is high._
Her answer:
_A gentle wind of Autumn makes me sad_
_O day of storm--_
_No way to speak of it!_
The Prince thought in this he could read her true feeling, but days
passed before his visit.
It was after the tenth day of the Ninth month. He waked and saw the
morning moon.[16] It seemed a long time since he had seen her. He
felt that she was gazing at this moon, so followed by his page, he
knocked at her gate. The lady was lying awake and meditating, lost in
a melancholy which may have been due to the season. She wondered at
the knock, but knew not who the visitor might be. She waked the maid
lying beside her, who was in a sound sleep; the latter called out for
the manservant. When he went out, waking with difficulty, the knocking
had ceased and the visitor had gone. The guest must have thought her
a dull sleeper and been disheartened. Who was it likely to be? Surely
one of like mind with herself! Her man, who had gone out after much
rousing, and seen no one, complained that it was only her fancy. "Even
at night our mistress is restless--Oh, these unpeaceful persons!" Thus
he grumbled away, but went to sleep again at once.
The lady got up and saw the misty sky. When morning came she jotted
down her thoughts aimlessly, and while doing it received a letter:
_In the Autumn night_
_The pale morning moon was setting_
_When I turned away from the shut door._
He must have thought her a disappointing woman. Yet she was happy to
think that he never failed to associate her with every changing season
and came to her door when he was attracted by the lovely sight of the
sky, so she folded the notes she had just written and sent them to His
Highness.
The notes:
Sound of wind; wind blows hard as if it were determined
to blow away the last leaves on the branch. It grows
cloudy and threatening, rain patters slightly. I am
hopelessly desolate.
_Before the Autumn ends_
_My sleeves will be all rotted with tears,_
_The slow rains cannot do more to them._ |
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