Japanese Literature | Page 7

part of the
building. At first the hostess and the messenger were equally at a loss
for words. At length the silence was broken by the hostess, who said:--
"Already have I felt that I have lived too long, but doubly do I feel it
now that I am visited by such a messenger as you." Here she paused,
and seemed unable to contend with her emotion.
"When Naishi-no-Ske returned from you," said the Miôbu, "she
reported to the Emperor that when she saw you, face to face, her
sympathy for you was irresistible. I, too, see now how true it is!" A
moment's hesitation, and she proceeded to deliver the Imperial
message:--
"The Emperor commanded me to say that for some time he had
wandered in his fancy, and imagined he was but in a dream; and that,
though he was now more tranquil, he could not find that it was only a
dream. Again, that there is no one who can really sympathize with him;
and he hopes that you will come to the Palace, and talk with him. His

Majesty said also that the absence of the Prince made him anxious, and
that he is desirous that you should speedily make up your mind. In
giving me this message, he did not speak with readiness. He seemed to
fear to be considered unmanly, and strove to exercise reserve. I could
not help experiencing sympathy with him, and hurried away here,
almost fearing that, perhaps, I had not quite caught his full meaning."
So saying, she presented to her a letter from the Emperor. The lady's
sight was dim and indistinct. Taking it, therefore, to the lamp, she said,
"Perhaps the light will help me to decipher," and then read as follows,
much in unison with the oral message: "I thought that time only would
assuage my grief; but time only brings before me more vividly my
recollection of the lost one. Yet, it is inevitable. How is my boy? Of
him, too, I am always thinking. Time once was when we both hoped to
bring him up together. May he still be to you a memento of his
mother!"
Such was the brief outline of the letter, and it contained the following:--
"The sound of the wind is dull and drear Across Miyagi's[11] dewy lea,
And makes me mourn for the motherless deer That sleeps beneath the
Hagi tree."
She put gently the letter aside, and said, "Life and the world are
irksome to me; and you can see, then, how reluctantly I should present
myself at the Palace. I cannot go myself, though it is painful to me to
seem to neglect the honored command. As for the little Prince, I know
not why he thought of it, but he seems quite willing to go. This is very
natural. Please to inform his Majesty that this is our position. Very
possibly, when one remembers the birth of the young Prince, it would
not be well for him to spend too much of his time as he does now."
Then she wrote quickly a short answer, and handed it to the Miôbu. At
this time her grandson was sleeping soundly.
"I should like to see the boy awake, and to tell the Emperor all about
him, but he will already be impatiently awaiting my return," said the
messenger. And she prepared to depart.

"It would be a relief to me to tell you how a mother laments over her
departed child. Visit me, then, sometimes, if you can, as a friend, when
you are not engaged or pressed for time. Formerly, when you came
here, your visit was ever glad and welcome; now I see in you the
messenger of woe. More and more my life seems aimless to me. From
the time of my child's birth, her father always looked forward to her
being presented at Court, and when dying he repeatedly enjoined me to
carry out that wish. You know that my daughter had no patron to watch
over her, and I well knew how difficult would be her position among
her fellow-maidens. Yet, I did not disobey her father's request, and she
went to Court. There the Emperor showed her a kindness beyond our
hopes. For the sake of that kindness she uncomplainingly endured all
the cruel taunts of envious companions. But their envy ever deepening,
and her troubles ever increasing, at last she passed away, worn out, as it
were, with care. When I think of the matter in that light, the kindest
favors seem to me fraught with misfortune. Ah! that the blind affection
of a mother should make me talk in this way!"
"The thoughts of his Majesty may be even as your own," said the
Miôbu. "Often when he alluded to his