Part 14
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 Kumé._
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.