Part 12

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 sudaré 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 sudaré 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_ { _Sodé_ _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._