I am sad, but no one remarks it; the leaves of trees and
plants change day by day and so affection in him. In
anticipation I feel the dreariness of the long winter
rains; the leaves are pitifully teased by the winds; the
drops on the leaves which may vanish at any moment--how
like they are to my own life!
The sight of the leaves ever reminds me strangely of
my own sadness. I cannot go within, but lie on the
veranda; mayhap my end is not far off. I feel a vague
anger that others are in comfortable sleep and cannot
sympathize with me. Just now I heard the faint cry of a
wild goose.[17] Others will not be touched by it, but I
cannot endure the sound.
_How many nights, alas!--_
_Sleepless--_
_Only the calls of the wild geese--_
Let me not pass the time in this way. I will open the
shutter and watch the moon declining towards the western
horizon. It seems distant and serenely transparent.
There is mist over the earth; together comes the sound
of the morning bell and the crowing of cocks. There will
be no moment like this in past or future. I feel that
the colour of my sleeves is new to me.
_Another with same thoughts_
_May be gazing at the pale morning moon_
_Of the Long-night month--_
_No sight is more sorrowful._
Now there comes a knocking at the gate. What does it
mean? Who passes the night with thoughts like mine?
_There is one of like mind with me_
_Musing upon the morning moon._
_But no way to find him out!_
[Illustration: "THE LADY GOT UP AND SAW THE MISTY SKY"]
She had meant to send the last poem only to the Prince, but when she
learned that it was His Highness himself who had come she sent all.
The Prince read and did not feel that his visit had been in vain, if
she also had been awake and sadly dreaming. He wrote promptly and the
letter was presented while she was gazing aimlessly. She opened it
anxiously and read:
First poem:
_She thinks her own sleeves only are wet_
_But another's also are rotting._
Second poem:
_Dew-life soon to vanish away,_
_Hangs long suspended in forgetfulness of self_
_On the long-blooming chrysanthemum flower._
Third poem:
_Sleepless the call of wild geese on the cloud-track_
_Yet the pain is from your own heart._
Fourth poem:
_There may be another with thoughts like mine,_
_Who is gazing toward the sky of the morning moon._
Fifth poem:
_Although not together_
_You too were gazing at the moon_
_Believing that I went this morning to your gate,_
_Alas!_
O that gate hard to be opened!
So her writing had not been uselessly sent!
Towards the moon-hidden day she had another letter. After excusing
himself for his late neglect he wrote:
I have an awkward thing to ask you. There is a lady with
whom I have been secretly intimate. She is going away
to a distant province and I want to send her a poem
which will touch her heart deeply. Everything you write
touches me, so please compose a poem for me.
She was unwilling conceitedly to carry out his wishes, but she thought
it too prudish to refuse him, so she wrote with the words: "How can I
satisfy you?"
Her poem:
_In the tears of regret_
_Your image will linger long_
_Even after chilly Autumn has gone by._
It is painful for me to write a heartfelt letter in your
place.
And on the margin she wrote:
_Leaving you, where can she go?_
_For me no other life._
The Prince wrote back:
Very good poem is all that I can say. I cannot say that
you have expressed my heart. Forsaking me she wanders
away.
_So let it be._
_Let me think of you, the unexcelled one._
_There is not another._
Thus I can live on.
It was the Tenth month and more than ten days had passed before the
Prince came to her.
"The inner room is too dark and makes me restless. Let me sit here near
the veranda." He said many heart-touching and tender words. She could
not help being pleased. The moon was hidden and rain came pattering
down; the scene was in harmony with their feeling. Her heart was
disturbed with mingled emotions. The Prince perceived her feeling and
thought: "Why is she so much slandered by others? She is always here
alone sorrowing thus." He pitied her and startled the lady a little
whose head was bowed in distress on her hand by reciting a poem:
_It is not dripping rain nor morning dew_
_Yet here lying, strangely wet are the sleeves of the arm-pillow._
She was overwhelmed by feeling and could not speak, but he saw her
tears glistening in the moonlight. He was touched and said: "Why do you
not speak? Have my idle words displeased you?" She replied: "I do not
know why, but I feel that my heart is anguished, though your words are
in my ears. You will see," she went on lightly; "I shall never forget
your poem on the sleeves of the arm-pillow."
Thus the pitiful sad night was passed, and the Prince saw that she had
no other lover. He was sorry to go away from her in the early dawn, and
immediately sent a message: "How are you to-day? Are the tears dry this
morning?"
Her answer:
_In the morning they were dry,_
_For only in a dream_
_Were the sleeves of the arm-pillow wet._
He read it and smiled at the word "arm-pillow" which she had said she
should never forget.
His poem:
_You say it was only in a dream_
_That the sleeves were wet with tears:_
_Yet I cannot dry them--the sleeves of the arm-pillow._
I have never experienced so sorrow-sweet an autumnal
night. Was it the influence of the time?
After that he could not live without seeing her, and visited her
oftener. As he saw her more intimately he saw that she was not a
faithless woman. Her helpless situation touched his heart more and
more, and he became deeply sympathetic with her. Once he said to her:
"Even though you live on thus in solitude, I shall never forget you,
but it would be better to come to my palace. All these slanderous
rumours are due to your living alone. I for my part never met any men
[here]; is it because I come from time to time? Yet others tell me
very improper things about you which should not be heard; it made me
unspeakably sad to turn away from your shut gate. Remembering that
you are living in loneliness I sometimes have made a decision; yet
being old-fashioned in my ways I hesitated to tell you of it because
I anticipated the profound sadness with which you would hear these
rumours; nevertheless, I cannot continue our relations in this way. I
fear that the rumour might become true; then I should not be allowed
to come, and you would become for me like the moon in the Heavenly
way. If you really feel the loneliness you speak of, please come to
me. There are many persons living there [in his palace], yet you will
have no feeling of constraint. As I have been unhappy in my domestic
relations, I do not linger in that desolate region [the house of his
Princess]; but am always alone, performing religious services; I hope
that my loneliness may be lessened by talking with you whose mind is in
sympathy with mine."
[Illustration: "STRANGELY WET ARE THE SLEEVES OF THE ARM-PILLOW"]
Her feeling was opposed to such a thing; she had never told him about
the late Prince. Yet there was no mountain retreat to which she could
fly from World-troubles and her present condition seemed like a
never-ending night. There had been many men who had wanted her; hence
many strange reports were flying about. She could have confidence in no
one but the Prince, so she was much tempted.
She thought: "He has his wife, yet she lives in a detached house, the
nurse does all for him. If I show my affection and take pride in it, I
shall be much blamed; my wish is that he should hide me from the world."
"Though to be visited by you is a rare occurrence, such a time soothes
my heart; there is nothing else. So let anything happen, I will yield
to your every wish. Elsewhere they are saying ugly things about us; if
they see the fact accomplished, how much harder their words will be!"
"Those harsh words will be said about me, not you, at any rate. I will
find you a completely retired house where we can talk tranquilly." He
gave her much hope, and went away in the depths of night--the barred
door [outer strong gate of lattice work] had been left open [for that
purpose].
She thought within herself, being much troubled: "If I continue to live
alone, I can keep myself respected. If I were forsaken by him in his
palace, I should be laughed at."
After she retired this poem came:
_I went along the path when night was opening._
_Sodden were they,_
_The sleeves of the arm-pillow._
"That idle fancy of the sleeves he has not forgotten." This pleased her.
Her poem:
_Your sleeves are wet with the dews on the grass of the morning path._
_The sleeves of my arm-pillow are wet, but not with dew._
The next night the moon was very bright. Here and there people were
gazing at it. The next morning the Prince wanted to send her a poem and
was waiting for the page [to take it]. The lady, too, had noticed the
whiteness of the hoar-frost [and sent this poem]:
_There was frost on the sleeves of the arm-pillow,_
_And in the morning,_
_Lo! A frost-white world!_
The Prince was sorry the lady had got ahead of him. He said to himself:
"The night was passed yearning after the beloved and frost--"
Just then the page presented himself and His Highness said, with some
temper, handing his letter to the page: "Her messenger has already
come; I am beaten. I wish you had come earlier." The page ran to her,
and said: "I had been summoned before your messenger got there. I was
late and he is angry." The lady read the letter:
The moon last night was very bright,
_In a frosty morning_
_I await_
_With hope unwarranted_
_One who cannot be expected._
His letter seemed not to have been suggested by hers, and she was
pleased that His Highness had been in the same mood with herself.
Her poem:
_I did not sleep, gazing at the moon all night_
_But the dawning of the day_
_Was in whiteness of hoar-frost._
You are angry with the page. He is very sorry, and it
awakes my pity.
_The morning sun shines on the frost_
_So, like the sun, your face._
Two or three days passed without a word from him. Her heart was in his
promise which gave her hope, but she could not sleep for anxiety. While
lying awake in bed, she heard a knocking at the gate. It was just dawn.
"What can it be?" she wondered, and sent a servant to inquire. It was
the Prince's letter. It was an unusual hour for it and she wondered
sorrowfully whether the Prince had been conscious of her emotion. She
opened her shutter and read this letter in the moonlight:
_Do you see that the little night opens_[18]
_And on the ridge of the mountain, serenely bright,_
_Shines the moon of a night of Autumn?_
The bridge across the garden pond was clearly seen in the moonlight.
The door was shut, and she thought of the messenger outside the gate
and hastened her answer:.
_The night opens and I cannot sleep,_
_Yet I am dreaming dreams,_
_And, loving them, the moon I do not see._
The Prince thought the answer not invented, and that it would be
amusing to have her near him, to respond to his every fancy. After two
days he came quietly in a palanquin for women. It was the first time
she had shown herself to him in full[19] daylight, but it would be
unfriendly to creep away and hide, so she went to welcome him, creeping
a little nearer to the entrance. He excused himself for the absence of
those days and said: "Make up your mind quickly as to the thing I spoke
of the other day. I am always uneasy in these wanderings, yet more
uneasy when I cannot see you. O troublesome are the ways of this absurd
world!"
She replied: "I wish to yield to your mind, whatever it may be, yet
my thoughts are troubled when I anticipate my fate and see myself
neglected by you afterwards."
He said: "Try it, I can come very seldom." And he went away. On the
hedge there was a beautiful mayumi[20] and the Prince, leaning against
the balustrade:
_Our words are like these leaves,_
_Ever coloured deeper and deeper--_
And she took it up [completing the 31-syllable poem he had begun]:
_Although it is only the pearl dew that deepens them._
The Prince was pleased and thought her not without taste.
He seemed very elegant. He was attired as usual, his underdress
exquisite. Her eye was much charmed, and she thought that she was too
frivolous [to be thinking about it].
Next day he wrote:
Yesterday I was sorry that you were embarrassed, yet the
more attracted by it.
She answered:
_The Goddess of Mount Katuragi[21] would have felt so too--_
_There is no bridge across the way of Kume._
I did not know what to do.
The messenger came back with his poem:
_Were my devotion to be rewarded_
_How could I stop,_
_Though bridge were none at Katuragi San._
After that he came oftener, and her tiresome days were lightened.
But her old friends also sent letters and visited her, too, so she
wanted to go to the Prince's palace at once, lest some unlucky thing
should occur; yet her heart was anxious and hesitating.
One day he sent word: "Maple trees of the mountain are very beautiful.
Come! let us go together to see them." She answered, "I shall be glad
to do it." But the appointed day came and his Highness wrote: "To-day
I must confine myself for a religious service." But that night it
stormed, and the leaves were all gone from the trees. She waked and
wrote to the Prince how sorry she was that they could not have gone the
previous day.
His answer:
_In the Godless month[22] it stormed--_
_To-day I dream and dream_
_And wonder if the storm was within my heart._
She returned:
_Was it a rainstorm? How my sleeves are wet!_
_I cannot tell--but muse profoundly._
After the night storm there are no more maple leaves. O
that we could have gone to the mountain yesterday!
His Highness returned:
O that we might have gone to see the maple leaves, for
this morning it is useless to think of it.
And on the margin there was a poem:
_Though I believe_
_No maple leaves are hanging on the boughs,_
_Yet we may go to see_
_If scattering ones remain._
And she answered:
_Were the mountains of evergreens to change into red leaves,_
_Then we would go to see them_
_With tranquil, tranquil hearts._
My poem will make you laugh!
The night came and the Prince visited her. As her dwelling was in an
unlucky direction,[23] he came to take her out of it.
"For these forty-five days I shall stop at my cousin's, the
Lieutenant-General of the Third Rank, on account of the unlucky
direction [of my own house]. It is rather embarrassing to take you to
that unfamiliar place." Yet he dared to take her there. The palanquin
was drawn into its shelter [small house built for it]; the Prince got
out and walked away alone, and she felt very lonesome. When all were
asleep he came to take her in and talked about various things. The
guards, who were curious about it, were walking to and fro. Ukon-no-Zo
and the page waited near the Prince. His feeling for her was so intense
at this moment that all the past seemed dull. When day dawned he took
her back to her own home, and hurriedly returned himself to get back
before people woke up.
She could no longer disregard the earnest and condescending wish of His
Highness, and she could no more treat him with indifference. She made
up her mind to go to live with him. She received kind advice against
it, but did not listen. As she had been unhappy, she wanted to yield
herself to good fortune; yet when she thought of the court servitude
she hesitated and said to herself: "It is not my inmost wish. I yearn
for a retired religious life far away from worldly troubles. What
shall I do when I am forsaken by the Prince? People will laugh at my
credulity. Or shall I live on as I am? Then I can associate with my
parents and brothers; moreover, I can look after my child,[24] who
seems now like an encumbrance." Nevertheless, at last she wanted to go,
and she did not write her heart to the Prince, for she thought he would
know everything about her if they should live together. Her old friends
sent letters, yet she did not answer them saying [to herself]: "There
is nothing to write."
A letter from the Prince--in it was written: "I was a fool to believe
in you." His words were few. There was an old poem:
_You are faithless, yet I will not complain._
_As the silent sea_
_Deep is the hate in my heart._
Her heart was broken. There were many extraordinary rumours about her,
yet there were days when she believed that no harm could come of a
false rumour. Some one must have slandered her, suspecting that she
was yielding to the earnest desires of the Prince and going to live at
the palace.
She was sad, but could not write to him. She was ashamed to think of
what the Prince might have heard. The Prince, seeing that she did not
explain herself, wrote to her again:
Why do you not answer? Now I believe in the rumour. How
swiftly your heart changes! I heard something I did not
believe, and wrote to you that you might wipe away such
unpleasant thoughts from my mind.
These words opened [i.e. lightened] her bosom a little. She wanted to
know what he had heard and suddenly the wish to see him came to her.
O could you come to me this instant! I hunger to see
thee, but cannot go because I am buried in slander.
The Prince wrote back:
You are too afraid of slanders and I read your mind in
this caution. I am angry about it.
She thought he was teasing her, yet it saddened her, and she replied:
I cannot help it, please come in any case!
He returned:
I say to myself, "I will not suspect, I will not
resent," but my heart does not follow my will.
Her answer:
Your enmity will never cease. I rely upon you, yet I
suspect your faithfulness.
In the evening the Prince came. He said: "I wrote to you not believing
the story. If you wish not to have such things said of you, come!"
She replied: "Then take me there!" But when it was dawn His Highness
returned alone. He wrote to her continually, yet he seldom visited her.
Once there was a great storm--the Prince did not inquire for her. She
thought His Highness did not sympathize with her solitude, so wrote to
him in the evening:
_The season of the withering frost is sad,_
_The autumnal wind rages_
_And the sighing of the reed never stops._
The Prince's answer was:
_The solitary reed which none but me remembers_
_How it is sighing in the raging wind!_
I am even ashamed to confess how much my mind is
completely occupied with you.
She was pleased, indeed. The Prince sent his palanquin, saying that he
was going to the hidden rendezvous to avoid the unlucky direction of
his house. The lady went thither, thinking she would follow every wish
of his. They talked tranquilly for many days and nights, and her unrest
was chased away. She was now not unwilling to live with him, but when
the time for avoiding the unlucky direction was over, she was sent back
to her home. There she thought of him more longingly than ever, and
sent a poem:
_In this hour of longing_
_Reflection brings to mind each day gone by_
_And in each one_
_Was less of sorrow._
He replied:
_Sorrows of love were less each yesterday,_
_But how can those vanished days be caught again?_
There is no other way but to resolve to come to me.
She was still cautious and could not take things so easily. She passed
many days in musing. By this time the coloured leaves [of Autumn] had
all fallen. The sky was clear and bright. One evening as the sun was
setting she felt very lonely and wrote to him:
_You art always my consolation,_
_Yet with the end of day sadness comes._
He replied:
_All are sad when the day ends,_
_Yet are you sadder than any--_
_You who wait?_
I can sympathize with you and I am coming.
The next morning the frost was very white; he sent to inquire for her,
asking, "How are you feeling now?" She sent a poem:
_Not in repose was the night passed;_
_But the frosty morning_
_Brought its own charm,_
_Incomparable._
His answer contained many touching words, and a poem:
_To think alone is [not life]._
_If you were thinking the same thoughts--_
She answered:
_You are you and I am I,_
_Yet between your heart and mine is no separation._
_Make no such distinctions._
The lady caught cold. Though not serious she suffered. The Prince often
inquired for her and at last she answered, saying:
A little better. The thread of life thinned down and it
seemed to be going to break, but now it is dear to me
because of you. Is it because I am deep in sin?
He wrote back:
_Gladly do I hear it:_
_The thread of your life_
_Cannot easily be broken,_
_For it is tied together,_
_With pledges of long-enduring affection._
The end of the year was at hand. The first day of the Frost month
seemed like a day of early spring, but the next morning it snowed. The
Prince sent a poem:
_Since the god-age it has snowed,_
_It is a known thing,_
_Yet that snow seems very fresh this morning!_
She returned an answer:
_First snow! I see it young every winter,_
_Yet my face grows old_
_As Winter comes._
Days were passed in exchanging these nothings. Again his letter:
I become impatient to see you, and just now wanted to go
to you, but my friends have met here to compose poems
together.
She wrote:
_Had you no time to come?_
_Then I would go to you._
_O that I knew_ { _an even way of love._
{ _the art of composing poems._
He was pleased.
Come to my house. Here is the even way and here's the
way to see each other.
That night he visited her, and talked touchingly of many things. "Would
you be sad," he said, "if I should desert my house and become a monk?"
He spoke sadly, and she wondered why such a thought had entered his
mind, and whether it could be true or not. Overcome with melancholy
she wept. Outside was tranquil rain and snow: they slept not at all,
but talked together with feeling throughout the night as if the world
were all forgotten. She felt that his affection was deeper than she had
suspected. He seemed to feel everything in her, and could sympathize
with her every emotion. In that case she could accomplish her
determination from the beginning [to go to become a nun]. So she made
up her mind, but said nothing and sat lamenting. He saw her feeling and
said:
_Lovers' fancy of a moment held us both through the night,_
And she continued:
_Tears came to their eyes,_
_And without was the rain._
In the morning he talked of merrier things than usual, and went back.
Though she had no faith in it [i.e. the convent], yet she had been
thinking of it to comfort her solitude. Now her mind was confused,
trying to think how to realize it, and she told her perplexed feeling
to the Prince:
_On waking I cannot think._
_I wish that those were only dreams [of which we talked last night]._
And on the margin she wrote:
_We made our vows so earnestly,_
_Yet must these vows yield_
_To the common fate of the changing world._
I am sorry to think of it.
The Prince read it and made answer:
I wanted to write to you first--
_I will not think it real,_
_Those sad things were only dreams_
_Dreamed in a night of dreams._
I wish that you would think so too. You dwell too much
upon nothing.
_Only life is fickle:_
_We know not how it will end._
_But promises shall endure_
_As long as the pine-tree at Suminoye._[25]
O my beloved, I spoke to you of what I did not heartily
wish. You are too literal. I am sorry for that.
Yet the lady's thought lingered over that sad intention and she
lamented much. Once she was making haste to set out when she received
the Prince's letter:
_Oh, I longed for it, though I had just seen it_
_A yamato-nadeshiko[26] growing in the hedge of a mountain-dwelling._
It was painful to her present mind, yet she replied:
_If you love, come and see,_
_Even the thousand swift gods will not forbid_
_Those who follow in the Way._
He smiled over the poem. As he was reading sutras those days he sent
the following poem:
_The way of meeting is not god-forbidden._
_But I am on the seat of the Law_
_And cannot leave it._
Her answer:
_Then will I go thither to seek you,_
_Only do you enlarge the seat!_
Once it snowed heavily and he sent her a poem affixed to a branch
covered with snow:
_Snow falls, and on all the branches_
_Plum flowers are in bloom,_
_Though it is not yet spring._
This was unexpected and she wrote back:
_Thinking that plum flowers were in bloom_
_I broke the branch,_
_And snow scattered like the flowers._
The next morning early he sent a poem:
_These winter nights lovers keep vigil._
_Lying on one's lonely bed_
_Day dawns_
_And the eyelids have not met._
Her answer:
_Can it be true?_
_On Winter nights eyes are shut in ice [frozen tears]_
_And midnight hours are desolate._
_I wait for dawn, although no joy is in it._
What the Prince had been thinking of he wrote in heart-dwindling words,
saying, "I think I cannot live out my life in this world," so she wrote
back:
_For me, it is fitting to speak of these things,_
_For they recall_
_The romance of past days._
His poem:
_I would not exist even for a moment_
_In a world where sorrows_
_Follow one another like the joints_
_In the bamboo stalk._
He had been troubling himself to find out a fit place to conceal
her, but he reflected, "She is not used to such a life and would be
embarrassed by it. For my part, I should be much rebuked. It is simpler
to go myself and bring her as my maid."
So on the eighteenth of the Finishing month on a moon-bright night he
visited her. He said in the ordinary way, "Now, please come," and she
thought it for a night only. When she got into the palanquin alone,
"Take an attendant with you. If you are willing we will talk together
tranquilly to-morrow and the day after to-morrow."
He had not spoken in this way before, and she, guessing his intention,
took her maid with her. She was not carried to the same house as
before. The room was beautifully adorned, and he said, "Live here
privately; you may have several attendants." Now she was sure she had
understood him and she thought it fortunate to come thus secretly.
People would be astonished to find she had come here to live before
they were aware. When day dawned she sent her servant to fetch her case
of combs and other things. The Prince left the room, but the shutters
were still closed. It was not frightful, but uncomfortable.
[Illustration: "IN THE DAYTIME COURTIERS CAME TO SEE HIM"]
"I wish," said the Prince, "to arrange that you shall live in the North
building. This room is near the Audience Room and has no charm in it"
[i.e. some one might discover her]. So she shut herself up and listened
in secret. In the daytime courtiers of the ex-Emperor [his father] came
to see him. He said: "How is it with you here? Can you stay? I feared
that you would find it disagreeable by my side"; and she answered, "I
feared just the same thing." He laughed and said: "To tell the truth,
take care of yourself while I am away; some impertinent fellows may
come to catch a glimpse of you. In a few days I will have you live
openly in the room where now is my housekeeper [nurse]. The room where
I pass the day has no visitors."
After two or three days she was removed to the North side building.[27]
People were astonished and ran and told the Princess, who said: "Even
without this event, I have not been treated as I ought to have been.
She is of no high birth; it is too much." She was angry because he had
told her nothing. His secrecy displeased her very much, and she was
more inconsolable than ever. The Prince felt sorry for her and tried to
be with her oftener. She said to him: "I am ill with hearing rumours
and have come to hate seeing people. Why have you not told me this
before? I would not have interfered: I cannot bear to be treated like a
woman of no importance. I am ashamed to think that people are laughing
at me." She said it weeping and weeping. He answered: "I brought her
for my maid, and I thought that you would allow it; as you are angry
with me the Lieutenant-General [her brother] hates me also. I brought
her to dress my hair and she shall serve you also." The Princess was
not softened by these words, but she was silenced.
Thus days passed and the lady became used to the court life. She
dressed his hair and served in everything. As he did not allow her to
retire to her private room, the visits of the Princess became more and
more rare. The Princess lamented it infinitely. The year turned back
and on the first day of the Social month all the courtiers came to
perform the ceremony of congratulation before the Emperor. The Prince
was among them. He was younger and fairer than any, and even this made
her ashamed of herself. From the Princess's house her ladies went
out to see the procession, yet they did not care so much to see the
courtiers as to look at her. They were in great disorder looking about;
it was an ugly sight.
After dark when the ceremony was over, His Highness came back and all
the court nobles came with him to amuse themselves. It was very gay and
a contrast to the solitary life of her old home. One day the Prince
heard that even the lowest servants were speaking evil of her. He
thought it was due to the behaviour of his wife, and being displeased
seldom went to the Royal dwelling. She was sorry for the Princess, yet
she did not know what to do. She remained there, thinking that she
would do as she was bid.
The Princess's elder sister was married to the Crown Prince and just
then was living with her parents. She wrote to the younger Princess:
"How are you? I have heard something of what people are saying these
days. Is it true? Even I feel disgraced. Come to us during the night."
The Princess could not console herself when she thought how much people
who make talk about nothing were gossiping. She wrote back to her
sister: "I have received your letter. I had been unhappy in the world
[married life] and now am in a painful situation. For a time I will go
back, and beholding the young Princess will comfort me. Please send
some one to summon me. I cannot go away when I desire, for he will not
permit it." She began to put her affairs in order, taking away those
things which must not be seen by others. She said: "I am going there
for a while, for if I stay here my husband will feel uncomfortable to
come to me. It is painful for both of us." And they said: "People are
talking and laughing about it a good deal. He went out himself to get
her. She is dazzling to the eye; she lives in the court ladies' room
over there. She goes to the Prince's hall three or four times a day. It
is quite right that you should punish him--going away with few words!"
All hated the lady, and he was sorry for her. His Highness suspected
what his wife was going to do, and he found his conjecture
realized when the sons of his brother-in-law came to fetch her. A
lady-in-waiting said to the housekeeper: "The princess has taken
important things with her; she is going away." The housekeeper was in
great anxiety and said to the Prince: "The Princess is going away. What
will the Crown Prince think of it! Go to comfort her." |
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