I was brought up in a distant province[1] which lies farther than
the farthest end of the Eastern Road. I am ashamed to think that
inhabitants of the Royal City will think me an uncultured girl.
Somehow I came to know that there are such things as romances in the
world and wished to read them. When there was nothing to do by day
or at night, one tale or another was told me by my elder sister or
stepmother, and I heard several chapters about the shining Prince
Genji.[2] My longing for such stories increased, but how could they
recite them all from memory? I became very restless and got an image of
Yakushi Buddha[3] made as large as myself. When I was alone I washed my
hands and went secretly before the altar and prayed to him with all my
life, bowing my head down to the floor. "Please let me go to the Royal
City. There I can find many tales. Let me read all of them."
When thirteen years old, I was taken to the Royal City. On the third of
the Long-moon month,[4] I removed [from my house] to Imataté, the old
house where I had played as a child being broken up. At sunset in the
foggy twilight, just as I was getting into the palanquin, I thought of
the Buddha before which I had gone secretly to pray--I was sorry and
secretly shed tears to leave him behind.
Outside of my new house [a rude temporary, thatched one] there is no
fence nor even shutters, but we have hung curtains and sudaré.[5] From
that house, standing on a low bluff, a wide plain extends towards
the South. On the East and West the sea creeps close, so it is an
interesting place. When fogs are falling it is so charming that I rise
early every morning to see them. Sorry to leave this place.
On the fifteenth, in heavy dark rain, we crossed the boundary of the
Province and lodged at Ikada in the Province of Shimofusa. Our lodging
is almost submerged. I am so afraid I cannot sleep. I see only three
lone trees standing on a little hill in the waste.
The next day was passed in drying our dripping clothes and waiting for
the others to come up.[6]
On the seventeenth, started early in the morning, and crossed a deep
river. I heard that in this Province there lived in olden times a
chieftain of Mano. He had thousand and ten thousand webs of cloth woven
and dipped them [for bleaching] in the river which now flows over
the place where his great house stood. Four of the large gate-posts
remained standing in the river.
Hearing the people composing poems about this place, I in my mind:
_Had I not seen erect in the river_
_These solid timbers of the olden time_
_How could I know, how could I feel_
_The story of that house?_
That evening we lodged at the beach of Kurodo. The white sand stretched
far and wide. The pine-wood was dark--the moon was bright, and the soft
blowing of the wind made me lonely. People were pleased and composed
poems. My poem:
_For this night only_
_The autumn moon at Kurodo beach shall shine for me,_
_For this night only!--I cannot sleep._
Early in the morning we left this place and came to the Futoi River[7]
on the boundary between Shimofusa and Musashi. We lodged at the ferry
of Matsusato[8] near Kagami's rapids,[9] and all night long our luggage
was being carried over.
My nurse had lost her husband and gave birth to her child at the
boundary of the Province, so we had to go up to the Royal City
separately. I was longing for my nurse and wanted to go to see her,
and was brought there by my elder brother in his arms. We, though in
a temporary lodging, covered ourselves with warm cotton batting, but
my nurse, as there was no man to take care of her, was lying in a wild
place [and] covered only with coarse matting. She was in her red dress.
The moon came in, lighting up everything, and in the moonlight she
looked transparent. I thought her very white and pure. She wept and
caressed me, and I was loath to leave her. Even when I went with
lingering heart, her image remained with me, and there was no interest
in the changing scenes.
The next morning we crossed the river in a ferry-boat in our
palanquins. The persons who had come with us thus far in their own
conveyances went back from this place. We, who were going up to the
Royal City, stayed here for a while to follow them with our eyes; and
as it was a parting for life all wept. Even my childish heart felt
sorrow.
Now it is the Province of Musashi. There is no charm in this place. The
sand of the beaches is not white, but like mud. People say that purple
grass[10] grows in the fields of Musashi, but it is only a waste of
various kinds of reeds, which grow so high that we cannot see the bows
of our horsemen who are forcing their way through the tall grass. Going
through these reeds I saw a ruined temple called Takeshíba-dera. There
were also the foundation-stones of a house with corridor.
"What place is it?" I asked; and they answered:
"Once upon a time there lived a reckless adventurer at Takeshiba.[11]
He was offered to the King's palace [by the Governor] as a guard to
keep the watch-fire. He was once sweeping the garden in front of a
Princess's room and singing:
_Ah, me! Ah, me! My weary doom to labour here in the Palace!_
_Seven good wine-jars have I--and three in my province._
_There where they stand I have hung straight-stemmed gourds of_
_the finest--_
_They turn to the West when the East wind blows,_
_They turn to the East when the West wind blows,_
_They turn to the North when the South wind blows,_
_They turn to the South when the North wind blows._
_And there I sit watching them turning and turning forever--_
_Oh, my gourds! Oh, my wine-jars!_
"He was singing thus alone, but just then a Princess, the King's
favourite daughter, was sitting alone behind the misu.[12] She came
forward, and, leaning against the door-post, listened to the man
singing. She was very interested to think how gourds were above the
wine-jars and how they were turning and wanted to see them. She became
very zealous for the gourds, and pushing up the blind called the guard,
saying, 'Man, come here!' The man heard it very respectfully, and with
great reverence drew near the balustrade. 'Let me hear once more what
you have been saying.' And he sang again about his wine-jars. 'I must
go and see them, I have my own reason for saying so,' said the Princess.
"He felt great awe, but he made up his mind, and went down towards the
Eastern Province. He feared that men would pursue them, and that night,
placing the Princess on the Seta Bridge,[13] broke a part of it away,
and bounding over with the Princess on his back arrived at his native
place after seven days' and seven nights' journey.
"The King and Queen were greatly surprised when they found the Princess
was lost, and began to search for her. Some one said that a King's
guard from the Province of Musashi, carrying something of exquisite
fragrance[14] on his back, had been seen fleeing towards the East.
So they sought for that guard, and he was not to be found. They
said, 'Doubtless this man went back home.' The Royal Government sent
messengers to pursue them, but when they got to the Seta Bridge they
found it broken, and they could not go farther. In the Third month,
however, the messengers arrived at Musashi Province and sought for the
man. The Princess gave audience to the messengers and said:
"'I, for some reason, yearned for this man's home and bade him carry
me here; so he has carried me. If this man were punished and killed,
what should I do? This is a very good place to live in. It must have
been settled before I was born that I should leave my trace [i.e.
descendants] in this Province--go back and tell the King so.' So the
messenger could not refuse her, and went back to tell the King about it.
"The King said: 'It is hopeless. Though I punish the man I cannot bring
back the Princess; nor is it meet to bring them back to the Royal City.
As long as that man of Takeshiba lives I cannot give Musashi Province
to him, but I will entrust it to the Princess.'
"In this way it happened that a palace was built there in the same
style as the Royal Palace and the Princess was placed there. When
she died they made it into a temple called Takeshíba-dera.[15] The
descendants of the Princess received the family name of Musashi. After
that the guards of the watch-fire were women."[16]
We went through a waste of reeds of various kinds, forcing our way
through the tall grass. There is the river Asuda along the border of
Musashi and Sagami, _where at the ferry Arihara Narihira had composed
his famous poem._[17] In the book of his poetical works the river is
called the river Sumida.
We crossed it in a boat, and it is the Province of Sagami. The mountain
range called Nishitomi is like folding screens with good pictures. On
the left hand we saw a very beautiful beach with long-drawn curves
of white waves. There was a place there called Morokoshi-ga-Hara[18]
[Chinese Field] where sands are wonderfully white. Two or three days
we journeyed along that shore. A man said:, "In Summer pale and deep
Japanese pinks bloom there and make the field like brocade. As it is
Autumn now we cannot see them." But I saw some pinks scattered about
blooming pitiably. They said: "It is funny that Japanese pinks are
blooming in the Chinese field."
There is a mountain called Ashigara [Hakoné] which extends for ten
and more miles and is covered with thick woods even to its base. We
could have only an occasional glimpse of the sky. We lodged in a hut
at the foot of the mountain. It was a dark moonless night. I felt
myself swallowed up and lost in the darkness, when three singers came
from somewhere. One was about fifty years old, the second twenty, and
the third about fourteen or fifteen. We set them down in front of our
lodging and a karakasa [large paper umbrella] was spread for them. My
servant lighted a fire so that we saw them. They said that they were
the descendants of a famous singer called Kobata. They had very long
hair which hung over their foreheads; their faces were white and clean,
and they seemed rather like maids serving in noblemen's families. They
had clear, sweet voices, and their beautiful singing seemed to reach
the heavens. All were charmed, and taking great interest made them
come nearer. Some one said, "The singers of the Western Provinces are
inferior to them," and at this the singers closed their song with the
words, "if we are compared with those of Naniwa" [Osaka].[19] They were
pretty and neatly dressed, with voices of rare beauty, and they were
wandering away into this fearful mountain. Even tears came to those
eyes which followed them as far as they could be seen; and my childish
heart was unwilling to leave this rude shelter frequented by these
singers.
Next morning we crossed over the mountain.[20] Words cannot express my
fear[21] in the midst of it. Clouds rolled beneath our feet. Halfway
over there was an open space with a few trees. Here we saw a few leaves
of aoi[22] [_Asarum caulescens_]. People praised it and thought strange
that in this mountain, so far from the human world, was growing such a
sacred plant. We met with three rivers in the mountain and crossed them
with difficulty. That day we stopped at Sekiyama. Now we are in Suruga
Province. We passed a place called Iwatsubo [rock-urn] by the barrier
of Yokobashiri. There was an indescribably large square rock through a
hole in which very cold water came rushing out.
Mount Fuji is in this Province. In the Province where I was brought up
[from which she begins this journey] I saw that mountain far towards
the West. It towers up painted with deep blue, and covered with eternal
snow. It seems that it wears a dress of deep violet and a white veil
over its shoulders. From the little level place of the top smoke was
going up. In the evening we even saw burning fires there.[23] The Fuji
River comes tumbling down from that mountain. A man of the Province
came up to us and told us a story.
"Once I went on an errand. It was a very hot day, and I was resting on
the bank of the stream when I saw something yellow come floating down.
It came to the bank of the river and stuck there. I picked it up and
found it to be a scrap of yellow paper with words elegantly written on
it in cinnabar. Wondering much I read it. On the paper was a prophecy
of the Governors [of provinces] to be appointed next year. As to this
Province there were written the names of two Governors. I wondered
more and more, and drying the paper, kept it. When the day of the
announcement came, this paper held no mistake, and the man who became
the Governor of this Province died after three months, and the other
succeeded him."
There are such things. I think that the gods assemble there on that
mountain to settle the affairs of each new year.
At Kiyomigaseki, where we saw the sea on the left, there were many
houses for the keepers of the barriers. Some of the palisades went even
into the sea.
At Tagonoura waves were high. From there we went along by boat. We went
with ease over Numajiri and came to the river Ōi. Such a torrent I have
never seen. Water, white as if thickened with rice flour, ran fast.
I became ill, and now it is the Province of Totomi. I had almost lost
consciousness when I crossed the mountain pass of Sayo-no-Nakayama [the
middle mountain of the little night]. I was quite exhausted, so when
we came to the bank of the Tenryu River, we had a temporary dwelling
built, and passed several days there, and I got better. As the winter
was already advanced, the wind from the river blew hard and it became
intolerable. After crossing the river we went towards the bridge at
Hamana.
When we had gone down towards the East [four years before when her
father had been appointed Governor] there had been a log bridge, but
this time we could not find even a trace of it, so we had to cross in
a boat. The bridge had been laid across an inland bay. The waves of
the outer sea were very high, and we could see them through the thick
pine-trees which grew scattered over the sandy point which stretched
between us and the sea. They seemed to strike across the ends of the
pine branches and shone like jewels. It was an interesting sight.
We went forward and crossed over Inohana--an unspeakably weary ascent
it was--and then came to Takashi shore of the Province of Mikawa. We
passed a place called "Eight-Bridges," but it was only a name, no
bridge and no pretty sight.
In the mountain of Futamura we made our camp under a big persimmon
tree. The fruit fell down during the night over our camps and people
picked it up.
We passed Mount Miyaji, where we saw red leaves still, although it was
the first day of the Tenth month.
_Furious mountain winds in their passing_
_must spare this spot_
_For red maple leaves are clinging_
_even yet to the branch._
There was a fort of "If-I-can" between Mikawa and Owari. It is amusing
to think how difficult the crossing was, indeed. We passed the Narumi
[sounding-sea] shore in the Province of Owari. The evening tides were
coming in, and we thought if they came higher we could not cross. So in
a panic we ran as fast as we could.
At the border of Mino we crossed a ferry called Kuromata, and arrived
at Nogami. There singers came again and they sang all night. Lovingly
we thought of the singers of Ashigara.
Snow came, and in the storm we passed the barrier at Fuha, and over
the Mount Atsumi, having no heart to look at beautiful sights. In the
Province of Omi we stayed four or five days in a house at Okinaga. At
the foot of Mitsusaka Mountain light rain fell night and day mixed
with hail. It was so melancholy that we left there and passed by
Inugami, Kanzaki, and Yasu without receiving any impressions. The lake
stretched far and wide, and we caught occasional glimpses of Nadeshima
and Chikubushima [islands]. It was a very pretty sight. We had great
difficulty at the bridge of Seta, for it had fallen in. We stopped at
Awazu, and arrived at the Royal City after dark on the second day of
the Finishing month.
When we were near the barrier I saw the face of a roughly hewn
Buddha sixteen feet high which towered over a rude fence. Serene and
indifferent to its surroundings it stood unregarded in this deserted
place; but I, passing by, received a message from it. Among so many
provinces [through which I have passed] the barriers at Kiyomigata and
Osaka were far better than the others.
It was dark when I arrived at the residence on the west of the Princess
of Sanjo's mansion.[24] Our garden was very wide and wild with great,
fearful trees not inferior to those mountains I had come from. I could
not feel at home, or keep a settled mind. Even then I teased mother
into giving me books of stories, after which I had been yearning for so
many years. Mother sent a messenger with a letter to Emon-no-Myōgu, one
of our relatives who served the Princess of Sanjo. She took interest in
my strange passion and willingly sent me some excellent manuscripts in
the lid of a writing-box,[25] saying that these copies had been given
her by the Princess. My joy knew no bounds and I read them day and
night; I soon began to wish for more, but as I was an utter stranger to
the Royal City, who would get them for me?
My stepmother [meaning one of her father's wives] had once been a
lady-in-waiting at the court, and she seemed to have been disappointed
in something. She had been regretting the World [her marriage], and now
she was to leave our home. She beckoned her own child, who was five
years old, and said, "The time will never come when I shall forget you,
dear heart"; and pointing to a huge plum-tree which grew close to the
eaves, said, "When it is in flower I shall come back"; and she went
away. I felt love and pity for her, and while I was secretly weeping,
the year, too, went away.
[Illustration: "IT WAS ALL IN FLOWER AND YET NO TIDINGS FROM HER"]
"When the plum-tree blooms I shall come back"--I pondered over these
words and wondered whether it would be so. I waited and waited with my
eye hung to the tree. It was all in flower[26] and yet no tidings from
her. I became very anxious [and at last] broke a branch and sent it to
her [of course with a poem]:
_You gave me words of hope, are they not long delayed?_
_The plum-tree is remembered by the Spring,_
_Though it seemed dead with frost._
She wrote back affectionate words with a poem:
_Wait on, never forsake your hope,_
_For when the plum-tree is in flower_
_Even the unpromised, the unexpected, will come to you._
During the spring [of 1022] the world was disquieted.[27] My nurse, who
had filled my heart with pity on that moonlight night at the ford of
Matsuzato, died on the moon-birthday of the Ever-growing month [first
day of March], I lamented hopelessly without any way to set my mind at
ease, and even forgot my passion for romances.
I passed day after day weeping bitterly, and when I first looked out of
doors[28] [again] I saw the evening sun on cherry-blossoms all falling
in confusion [this would mean four weeks later].
_Flowers are falling, yet I may see them again_
_when Spring returns._
_But, oh, my longing for the dear person_
_who has departed from us forever!_
I also heard that the daughter of the First Adviser[29] to the King was
lost [dead]. I could sympathize deeply with the sorrow of her lord, the
Lieutenant-General, for I still felt my own sorrow.
When I had first arrived at the Capital I had been given a book of the
handwriting of this noble lady for my copy-book. In it were written
several poems, among them the following:
_When you see the smoke floating up the valley of_
_Toribe Hill,_[30]
_Then you will understand me, who seemed as shadow-like_
_even while living._
I looked at these poems which were written in such a beautiful
handwriting, and I shed more tears. I sat brooding until mother
troubled herself to console me. She searched for romances and gave them
to me, and I became consoled unconsciously. I read a few volumes of
Genji-monogatari and longed for the rest, but as I was still a stranger
here I had no way of finding them. I was all impatience and yearning,
and in my mind was always praying that I might read all the books of
Genji-monogatari from the very first one.
While my parents were shutting themselves up in Udzu-Masa[31] Temple,
I asked them for nothing except this romance, wishing to read it as
soon as I could get it, but all in vain. I was inconsolable. One day I
visited my aunt, who had recently come up from the country. She showed
a tender interest in me and lovingly said I had grown up beautifully.
On my return she said: "What shall I give you? You will not be
interested in serious things: I will give you what you like best." And
she gave me more than fifty volumes of Genji-monogatari put in a case,
as well as Isé-monogatari, Yojimi, Serikawa, Shirara, and Asa-udzu.[32]
How happy I was when I came home carrying these books in a bag! Until
then I had only read a volume here and there, and was dissatisfied
because I could not understand the story.
Now I could be absorbed in these stories, taking them out one by one,
shutting myself in behind the kichō.[33] To be a Queen were nothing
compared to this!
All day and all night, as late as I could keep my eyes open, I did
nothing but look at the books, setting a lamp[34] close beside me.
Soon I learnt by heart all the names in the books, and I thought that a
great thing.
Once I dreamt of a holy priest in yellow Buddhist scarf who came to me
and said, "Learn the fifth book of the Hokekkyo[35] at once."
I did not tell any one about this, nor had I any mind to learn it,
but continued to bathe in the romances. Although I was still ugly and
undeveloped [I thought to myself] the time would come when I should be
beautiful beyond compare, with long, long hair. I should be like the
Lady Yugao [in the romance] loved by the Shining Prince Genji, or like
the Lady Ukifuné, the wife of the General of Uji [a famous beauty]. I
indulged in such fancies--shallow-minded I was, indeed!
Could such a man as the Shining Prince be living in this world? How
could General Kaoru [literal translation, "Fragrance"] find such a
beauty as Lady Ukifuné to conceal in his secret villa at Uji? Oh! I was
like a crazy girl.
While I had lived in the country, I had gone to the temple from time to
time, but even then I could never pray like others, with a pure heart.
In those days people learned to recite sutras and practise austerities
of religious observance after the age of seventeen or eighteen, but I
could scarcely even think of such matters. The only thing that I could
think of was the Shining Prince who would some day come to me, as
noble and beautiful as in the romance. If he came only once a year I,
being hidden in a mountain villa like Lady Ukifuné, would be content.
I could live as _heart-dwindlingly_ as that lady, looking at flowers,
or moonlit snowy landscape, occasionally receiving long-expected lovely
letters from my Lord! I cherished such fancies and imagined that they
might be realized.
[Illustration: KICHŌ: FRONT AND BACK VIEWS]
On the moon-birth of the Rice-Sprout month I saw the white petals
of the Tachibana tree [a kind of orange] near the house covering the
ground.
_Scarce had my mind received with wonder;_
_The thought of newly fallen snow--_
_Seeing the ground lie white--_
_When the scent of Tachibana flowers_
_Arose from fallen blossoms._
In our garden trees grew as thick as in the dark forest of Ashigara,
and in the Gods-absent month[36] its red leaves were more beautiful
than those of the surrounding mountains. A visitor said, "On my way
thither I passed a place where red leaves were beautiful"; and I
improvised:
_No sight can be more autumnal_
_than that of my garden_
_Tenanted by an autumnal person_
_weary of the world!_
I still dwelt in the romances from morning to night, and as long as I
was awake.
I had another dream: a man said that he was to make a brook in the
garden of the Hexagon Tower to entertain the Empress of the First
Rank of Honour. I asked the reason, and the man said, "Pray to the
Heaven-illuminating honoured Goddess." I did not tell any one about
this dream or even think of it again. How shallow I was!
In the Spring I enjoyed the Princess's garden. Cherry-blossoms waited
for!--cherry-blossoms lamented over! In Spring I love the flowers
whether in her garden or in mine.
On the moon-hidden day of the Ever-growing month [March 30, 1023], I
started for a certain person's house to avoid the evil influence of the
earth god.[37] There I saw delightful cherry-blossoms still on the tree
and the day after my return I sent this poem:
_Alone, without tiring, I gazed at the cherry-blossoms of your garden._
_The Spring was closing--they were about to fall--_
Always when the flowers came and went, I could think of nothing but
those days when my nurse died, and sadness descended upon me, which
grew deeper when I studied the handwriting of the Honoured Daughter of
the First Adviser.
Once in the Rice-Sprout month, when I was up late reading a romance, I
heard a cat mewing with a long-drawn-out cry. I turned, wondering, and
saw a very lovely cat. "Whence does it come?" I asked. "Sh," said my
sister, "do not tell anybody. It is a darling cat and we will keep it."
The cat was very sociable and lay beside us. Some one might be looking
for her [we thought], so we kept her secretly. She kept herself aloof
from the vulgar servants, always sitting quietly before us. She turned
her face away from unclean food, never eating it. She was tenderly
cared for and caressed by us.
Once sister was ill, and the family was rather upset. The cat was
kept in a room facing the north [i.e. a servant's room], and never
was called. She cried loudly and scoldingly, yet I thought it better
to keep her away and did so. Sister, suddenly awakening, said to me,
"Where is the cat kept? Bring her here." I asked why, and sister said:
"In my dream the cat came to my side and said, 'I am the altered
form of the late Honoured Daughter of the First Adviser to the King.
There was a slight cause [for this]. Your sister has been thinking of
me affectionately, so I am here for a while, but now I am among the
servants. O how dreary I am!' So saying she wept bitterly. She appeared
to be a noble and beautiful person and then I awoke to hear the cat
crying! How pitiful!"
The story moved me deeply and after this I never sent the cat away to
the north-facing room, but waited on her lovingly. Once, when I was
sitting alone, she came and sat before me, and, stroking her head, I
addressed her: "You are the first daughter of the Noble Adviser? I wish
to let your father know of it." The cat watched my face and mewed,
_lengthening her voice._
It may be my fancy, but as I was watching her she seemed no common cat.
She seemed to understand my words, and I pity her.
I had heard that a certain person possessed the Chogonka[38] [Song of
the Long Regret] retold from the original of the Chinese poet Li T'ai
Po. I longed to borrow it, but was too shy to say so.
On the seventh day of the Seventh month I found a happy means to send
my word [the suggestion of my wish]:
_This is the night when in the ancient Past,_
_The Herder Star embarked to meet the Weaving One;_
_In its sweet remembrance the wave rises high in the River_
_of Heaven.[39]_
_Even so swells my heart to see the famous book._
The answer was:
_The star gods meet on the shore of the Heavenly River,_
_Like theirs full of ecstasy is my heart_
_And grave things of daily life are forgotten_
_On the night your message comes to me._
On the thirteenth day of that month the moon shone very brightly.
Darkness was chased away even from every corner of the heavens. It was
about midnight and all were asleep.
We were sitting on the veranda. My sister, who was gazing at the sky
thoughtfully, said, "If I flew away now, leaving no trace behind, what
would you think of it?" She saw that her words shocked me, and she
turned the conversation [lightly] to other things, and we laughed.
Then I heard a carriage with a runner before it stop near the house.
The man in the carriage called out, "Ogi-no-ha! Ogi-no-ha!" [Reed-leaf,
a woman's name or pet name] twice, but no woman made reply. The man
cried in vain until he was tired of it, and played his flute [a
reed-pipe] more and more searchingly in a very beautiful rippling
melody, and [at last] drove away.
_Flute music in the night,_
_"Autumn Wind"[40] sighing,_
_Why does the reed-leaf make no reply?_
Thus I challenged my sister, and she took it up:
_Alas! light of heart_
_Who could so soon give over playing!_
_The wind did not wait_
_For the response of the reed-leaf._
We sat together looking up into the firmament, and went to bed after
daybreak.
At midnight of the Deutzia month [April, 1024] a fire broke out, and
the cat which had been waited on as a daughter of the First Adviser was
burned to death. She had been used to come mewing whenever I called
her by the name of that lady, as if she had understood me. My father
said that he would tell the matter to the First Adviser, for it is a
strange and heartfelt story. I was very, very sorry for her.
Our new temporary shelter was far narrower than the other. I was sad,
for we had a very small garden and no trees. I thought with regret of
the old spacious garden which was wild as a deep wood, and in time
of flowers and red leaves the sight of it was never inferior to the
surrounding mountains.
In the garden of the opposite house white and red plum-blossoms grew
in confusion and their perfume came on the wind and filled me with
thoughts of our old home.
_When from the neighbouring garden the perfume-laden air_
_Saturates my soul with memories,_
_Rises the thought of the beloved plum-tree_
_Blooming under the eaves of the house which is gone._
On the moon-birth of the Rice-Sprout month my sister died after giving
birth to a child. From childhood, even a stranger's death had touched
my heart deeply. This time I lamented, filled with speechless pity and
sorrow.
While mother and the others were with the dead, I lay with the
memory-awakening children one on either side of me. The moonlight found
its way through the cracks of the roof [perhaps of their temporary
dwelling] and illumined the face of the baby. The sight gave my heart
so deep a pang that I covered its face with my sleeve, and drew the
other child closer to my side, mothering the unfortunate.
[Illustration: A NOBLEMAN'S HOUSE AND GROUNDS IN THE AZUMAYA STYLE]
After some days one of my relatives sent me a romance entitled "The
Prince Yearning after the Buried," with the following note: "The late
lady had asked me to find her this romance. At that time I thought it
impossible, but now to add to my sorrow, some one has just sent it to
me."