It was embarrassing to return an oral message through the page, and
the Prince had not written; discontented, yet wishing to make some
response, she wrote a poem and gave it to the page:
_That scent, indeed, brings memories_
_But rather, to be reminded of that other,_
_Would hear the cuckoo's[5] voice._
The Prince was on the veranda of his palace, and as the page approached
him with important face, he led him into an inner room saying, "What is
it?" The page presented the poem.
The Prince read it and wrote this answer:
_The cuckoo sings on the same branch_
_With voice unchanged,_
_That shall you know._
His Highness gave this to the page and walked away, saying, "Tell it to
no one, I might be thought amorous." The page brought the poem to the
lady. Lovely it was, but it seemed wiser not to write too often [so did
not answer].
On the day following his first letter this poem was sent:
_To you I betrayed my heart--_
_Alas! Confessing_
_Brings deeper grief,_
_Lamenting days._
Feeling was rootless, but being unlearned in loneliness, and attracted,
she wrote an answer:
_If you lament to-day_
_At this moment your heart_
_May feel for mine--_
_For in sorrow_
_Months and days have worn away._
He wrote often and she answered--sometimes--and felt her loneliness a
little assuaged. Again she received a letter. After expressing feelings
of great delicacy:
_[I would] solace [you] with consoling words_
_If spoken in vain_
_No longer could be exchanged._
To talk with you about the departed one; how would it be
[for you] to come in the evening unobtrusively?
Her answer:
As I hear of comfort I wish to talk with you, but being
an uprooted person there is no hope of my standing
upright. I am footless [meaning, I cannot go to you].
Thus she wrote, and His Highness decided to come as a private person.
It was still daylight, and he secretly called his servant Ukon-no-zo,
who had usually been the medium by which the letters had reached the
Prince, and said,
"I am going somewhere," The man understood and made preparations.
His Highness came in an humble palanquin and made his page announce
him. It was embarrassing. She did not know what to do; she could not
pretend to be absent after having written him an answer that very day.
It seemed too heartless to make him go back at once without entering.
Thinking, "I will only talk to him," she placed a cushion by the west
door on the veranda, and invited the Prince there. Was it because
he was so much admired by the world that he seemed to her unusually
fascinating? But this only increased her caution. While they were
talking the moon shone out and it became uncomfortably bright.
He: "As I have been out of society and living in the shade, I am not
used to such a bright place as this "--It was too embarrassing!--"Let
me come in where you are sitting; I will not be rude as others are. You
are not one to receive me often, are you?" "No indeed! What a strange
idea! Only to-night we shall talk together I think; never again!" Thus
lightly talking, the night advanced--"Shall we spend the night in this
way?" he asked:
_The night passes,_
_We dream no faintest dream--_
_What shall remain to me of this summer night?_
She:
_Thinking of the world_
_Sleeves wet with tears are my bed-fellows._
_Calmly to dream sweet dreams--_
_There is no night for that._
[Illustration: "HIS HIGHNESS CAME IN A HUMBLE PALANQUIN"]
He: "I am not a person who can leave my house easily. You may think me
rude, but my feeling for you grows ardent." And he crept into the room.
Felt horribly embarrassed, but conversed together and at daybreak he
returned.
Next day's letter: