الرئيسيةاليوميةس .و .جبحـثالتسجيلدخول
بقلوب ملؤها المحبة .. و أفئدة تنبض بالمودة .. وكلمات تبحث عن روح الأخوة .. نقول لك أهلا وسهلا .. أهلا بك بقلوبنا قبل حروفنا .. بكل حب و إحترام وشوق .. نضيئ سماء "عصافير الجنة" فرحة لوجودك بيننا .. أهلا وسهلا بك في منتدانا الغالي

شاطر | 
 

  The Peony Lantern

اذهب الى الأسفل 
كاتب الموضوعرسالة
aya
مشرفة
مشرفة
avatar

انثى

تاريخ الميلاد : 06/12/1997

العمر : 20

تاريخ التسجيل : 20/05/2009

نقاط التمميز : 3227

عدد المساهمات : 1770

السٌّمعَة : 1


مُساهمةموضوع: The Peony Lantern    الخميس أغسطس 19, 2010 4:01 am

by Grace James
Illustrated by Warwick Goble



[ندعوك للتسجيل في المنتدى أو التعريف بنفسك لمعاينة هذه الصورة]
In Yedo there dwelt a
samurai called Hagiwara. He was a samurai of
the hatamoto, which is
of all the ranks of samurai the most honourable.
He possessed a
noble figure and a very beautiful face, and was beloved
of many a
lady of Yedo, both openly and in secret. For himself, being
yet
very young, his thoughts turned to pleasure rather than to love, and
morning, noon and night he was wont to disport himself with the gay
youth
of the city. He was the prince and leader of joyous revels within

doors and without, and would often parade the streets for long together
with bands of his boon companions.
One bright and wintry day during
the Festival of the New Year he
found himself with a company of
laughing youths and maidens playing at
battledore and shuttlecock.
He had wandered far away from his own
quarter of the city, and was
now in a suburb quite the other side of
Yedo, where the streets were
empty, more or less, and the quiet houses
stood in gardens.
Hagiwara wielded his heavy battledore with great
skill and grace,
catching the gilded shuttlecock and tossing it lightly
into the air;
but at length with a careless or an ill-judged stroke, he
sent it
flying over the heads of the players, and over the bamboo fence
of a
garden near by. Immediately he started after it. Then his
companions
cried, “Stay, Hagiwara; here we have more than a dozen
shuttlecocks.”
“Nay,”
he said, “but this was dove-coloured and gilded.”
“Foolish one!”
answered his friends; “here we have six shuttlecocks
all
dove-coloured and gilded.”
But he paid them no heed, for he had
become full of a very strange
desire for the shuttlecock he had
lost. He scaled the bamboo fence and
dropped into the garden which
was upon the farther side. Now he had
marked the very spot where
the shuttlecock should have fallen, but it
was not there; so he
searched along the foot of the bamboo fence — but
no, he could not
find it. Up and down he went, beating the bushes with
his
battledore, his eyes on the ground, drawing breath heavily as if he
had
lost his dearest treasure. His friends called him, but he did not
come,
and they grew tired and went to their own homes. The light of day

began to fail. Hagiwara, the samurai, looked up and saw a girl
standing
a few yards away from him. She beckoned him with her right
hand,
and in her left she held a gilded shuttlecock with dove-coloured
feathers.
The
samurai shouted joyfully and ran forward. Then the girl drew
away
from him, still beckoning him with the right hand. The shuttlecock
lured
him, and he followed. So they went, the two of them, till they
came
to the house that was in the garden, and three stone steps that
led
up to it. Beside the lowest step there grew a plum tree in blossom,
and upon the highest step there stood a fair and very young lady. She
was
most splendidly attired in robes of high festival. Her kimono was
of
water-blue silk, with sleeves of ceremony so long that they touched
the
ground; her under-dress was scarlet, and her great girdle of brocade
was stiff and heavy with gold. In her hair were pins of gold and
tortoise
shell and coral.
When Hagiwara saw the lady, he knelt down forthwith
and made her due
obeisance, till his forehead touched the ground.
Then
the lady spoke, smiling with pleasure like a child. “Come into
my
house, Hagiwara Sama, samurai of the hatamoto. I am O’Tsuyu, the
Lady
of the Morning Dew. My dear handmaiden, O’Yone, has brought you to
me.
Come in, Hagiwara Sama, samurai of the hatamoto; for indeed I am
glad
to see you, and happy is this hour.”
So the samurai went in, and
they brought him to a room of ten mats,
where they entertained him;
for the Lady of the Morning Dew danced
before him in the ancient
manner, whilst O’Yone, the handmaiden, beat
upon a small
scarlet-tasselled drum.
Afterwards they set food before him, the red
rice of the festival and
sweet warm wine, and he ate and drank of
the food they gave him.
It was dark night when Hagiwara took his
leave. “Come again,
honourable lord, come again,” said O’Yone the
handmaiden.
“Yea, lord, you needs must come,” whispered the Lady of
the Morning
Dew.
The samurai laughed. “And if I do not come?” he
said mockingly.
“What if I do not come?”
The lady stiffened, and
her child’s face grew grey, but she laid her
hand upon Hagiwara’s
shoulder.
“Then,” she said, “it will be death, lord. Death it will be
for you
and for me. There is no other way.” O’Yone shuddered and
hid her eyes
with her sleeve.
The samurai went out into the
night, being very much afraid.
Long, long he sought for his home and
could not find it, wandering in
the black darkness from end to end
of the sleeping city. When at last
he reached his familiar door the
late dawn was almost come, and wearily
he threw himself upon his
bed. Then he laughed. “After all, I have
left behind me my
shuttlecock,” said Hagiwara the samurai.
The next day Hagiwara sat
alone in his house from morning till
evening. He had his hands
before him; and he thought, but did nothing
more. At the end of the
time he said, “It is a joke that a couple of
geisha have sought to
play on me. Excellent, in faith, but they shall
not have me!” So
he dressed himself in his best and went forth to join
his friends.
For five or six days he was at joustings and junketings,
the gayest
of the gay. His wit was ready, his spirits were wild.
Then he said,
“By the gods, I am deathly sick of this,” and took to
walking the
streets of Yedo alone. From end to end of the great city he
went.
He wandered by day and he wandered by night, by street and alley
he
went, by hill and moat and castle wall, but he found not what he
sought.
He could not come upon the garden where his shuttlecock was
lost,
nor yet upon the Lady of the Morning Dew. His spirit had no rest.

He fell sick and took to his bed, where he neither ate nor slept, but
grew
spectre-thin. This was about the third month. In the sixth month,
at the time of niubai, the hot and rainy season, he rose up, and, in
spite
of all his faithful servant could say or do to dissuade him, he
wrapped
a loose summer robe about him and at once went forth.
“Alack!
Alack!” cried the servant, “the youth has the fever, or his
is
perchance mad.”
Hagiwara faltered not at all. He looked neither to
the right nor to
the left. Straight forward he went, for he said to
himself, “All roads
lead past my love’s house.” Soon he came to a
quiet suburb, and to a
certain house whose garden had a split bamboo
fence. Hagiwara laughed
softly and scaled the fence.
“The same,
the very same shall be the manner of our meeting,” he
said. He
found the garden wild and overgrown. Moss covered the three
stone
steps. The plum tree that grew there fluttered its green leaves
disconsolate.
The house was still, its shutters were all closed, it was
forlorn
and deserted.
The samurai grew cold as he stood and wondered. A
soaking rain fell.
There came an old man into the garden. He said to
Hagiwara:
“Sir, what do you do here?”
“The white flower has
fallen from the plum tree,” said the samurai.
“Where is the Lady of
the Morning Dew?”
“She is dead,” answered the old man; “dead these
five or six moons,
of a strange and sudden sickness. She lies in
the graveyard on the
hill, and O’Yone, her handmaid, lies by her
side. She could not suffer
her mistress to wander alone through the
long night of Yomi. For their
sweet spirits’ sake I would still
tend this garden, but I am old and it
is little that I can do. Oh,
sir, they are dead indeed. The grass
grows on their graves.”
Hagiwara
went to his own home. He took a slip of pure white wood and
he
wrote upon it, in large fair characters, the dear name of his lady.
This he set up, and burned before it incense and sweet odours, and made
every offering that was meet, and did due observance, and all for the
welfare
of her departed spirit.
Then drew near the Festival of Bon, the time
of returning souls. The
good folk of Yedo took lanterns and
visited their graves. Bringing
food and flowers, they cared for
their beloved dead. On the thirteenth
day of the seventh month,
which, in the Bon, is the day of days,
Hagiwara the samurai walked
in his garden by night for the sake of the
coolness. It was
windless and dark. A cicala hidden in the heart of a
pomegranate
flower sang shrilly now and again. Now and again a carp
leaped in
the round pond. For the rest it was still, and never a leaf
stirred.
About
the hour of the Ox, Hagiwara heard the sound of footsteps in
the
lane that lay beyond his garden hedge. Nearer and nearer they came.
“Women’s
geta,” said the samurai. He knew them by the hollow echoing
noise.
Looking over his rose hedge, he saw two slender women come out
of
the dimness hand in hand. One of them carried a lantern with a bunch
of peony flowers tied to the handle. It was such a lantern as is used
at
the time of the Bon in the service of the dead. It swung as the two
women
walked, casting an uncertain light. As they came abreast of the
samurai
upon the other side of the hedge, they turned their faces to
him.
He knew them at once, and gave one great cry.
The girl with the peony
lantern held it up so that the light fell
upon him.
“Hagiwara
Sama,” she cried, “by all that is most wonderful! Why,
lord, we
were told that you were dead. We have daily recited the
Nembutsu
for your soul these many moons!”
“Come in, come in, O’Yone,” he said;
“and is it indeed your mistress
that you hold by the hand? Can it
be my lady? . . . Oh, my love!”
O’Yone answered, “Who else should it
be?” and the two came in at the
garden gate.
But the Lady of the
Morning Dew held up her sleeve to hide her face.
“How was it I lost
you?” said the samurai; “how was it I lost you,
O’Yone?”
“Lord,”
she said, “we have moved to a little house, a very little
house, in
the quarter of the city which is called the Green Hill. We
were
suffered to take nothing with us there, and we are grown very poor.

With grief and want my mistress is become pale.”
Then Hagiwara took
his lady’s sleeve to draw it gently from her face.
“Lord,” she
sobbed, “you will not love me, I am not fair.”
But when he looked
upon her his love flamed up within him like a
consuming fire, and
shook him from head to foot. He said not a word.
She drooped.
“Lord,” she murmured, “shall I go or stay?”
And he said, “Stay.”
A
little before daybreak the samurai fell into a deep sleep, and
awoke
to find himself along in the clear light of the morning. He lost
not
an instant, but rose and went forth, and immediately made his way
through
Yedo to the quarter of the city which is called the Green Hill.
Here
he inquired for the house of the Lady of the Morning Dew, but no
one
could direct him. High and low he searched fruitlessly. It seemed
to
him that for the second time he had lost his dear lady, and he turned
homewards in bitter despair. His way led him through the grounds of a
certain
temple, and as he went he marked two graves that were side by
side.
One was little and obscure, but the other was marked by a fair
monument,
like the tomb of some great one. Before the monument there
hung a
lantern with a bunch of peony flowers tied to its handle. It was

such a lantern as is used at the time of Bon in the service of the
dead.
Long,
long did the samurai stand as one in a dream. Then he smiled a

little and said:
“‘We have moved to a little house . . . a very
little house . . .
upon the Green Hill . . . we were suffered to
take nothing with us there
and we are grown very poor . . . with
grief and want my mistress is
become pale. . . .’ A little house, a
dark house, yet you will make
room for me, oh, my beloved, pale one
of my desires. We have loved for
the space of ten existences,
leave me not now . . . my dear.” Then he
went home.
His faithful
servant met him and cried;
“Now what ails you, master?”
He said,
“Why, nothing at all. . . . I was never merrier.”
But the servant
departed weeping, and saying, “The mark of death is
on his face . . .
and I, whither shall I go that bore him as a child in
these arms?”
Every
night, for seven nights, the maidens with the peony lantern
came to
Hagiwara’s dwelling. Fair weather or foul was the same to them.

They came at the hour of the Ox. There was mystic wooing. By the
strong
bond of illusion the living and the dead were bound together.
On the
seventh night the servant of the samurai, wakeful with fear
and
sorrow, made bold to peer into his lord’s room through a crack in
the
wooden shutters. His hair stood on end and his blood ran cold to
see
Hagiwara in the arms of a fearful thing, smiling up at the horror
that
was its face, stoking its dank green robe with languid fingers.
With
daylight the servant made his way to a holy man of his
acquaintance.
When he had told his tale he asked, “Is there any hope
for
Hagiwara Sama?”
“Alack,” said the holy man, “who can withstand the
power of Karma?
Nevertheless, there is a little hope.” So he told
the servant what he
must do. Before nightfall, this one had set a
sacred text above every
door and window-place of his master’s house,
and he had rolled in the
silk of his master’s girdle a golden
emblem of the Tathagata. When
these things were done, Hagiwara
being drawn two ways became himself as
weak as water. And his
servant took him in his arms, laid him upon his
bed and covered him
lightly, and saw him fall into a deep sleep.
At the hour of the Ox
there was heard the sound of footsteps in the
lane, without the
garden hedge. Nearer and nearer they came. They grew
slow and
stopped.
“What means this, O’Yone, O’Yone?” said a piteous voice.
“The house
is asleep, and I do not see my lord.”
“Come home,
sweet lady, Hagiwara’s heart is changed.”
“That I will not, O’Yone,
O’Yone . . . you must find a way to bring
me to my lord.”
“Lady,
we cannot enter here. See the Holy Writing over every door
and
window-place . . . we may not enter here.”
There was a sound of
bitter weeping and a long wail.
“Lord, I have loved thee through the
space of ten existences.” Then
the footsteps retreated and their
echo died away.
The next night it was quite the same. Hagiwara slept
in his
weakness; his servant watched; the wraiths came and departed
in sobbing
despair.
The third day, when Hagiwara went to the
bath, a thief stole the
emblem, the golden emblem of the Tathagata,
from his girdle. Hagiwara
did not mark it. But that night he lay
awake. It was his servant that
slept, worn out with watching.
Presently a great rain fell and
Hagiwara, waking, heard the sound of
it upon the roof. The heavens were
opened and for hours the rain
fell. And it tore the holy text from
over the round window in
Hagiwara’s chamber.
At the hour of the Ox there was heard the sound
of footsteps in the
lane without the garden hedge. Nearer and
nearer they came. They grew
slow and stopped.
“This is the last
time, O’Yone, O’Yone, therefore bring me to my
lord. Think of the
love of ten existences. Great is the power of
Karma. There must be
a way. . . .”
“Come, my beloved,” called Hagiwara with a great
voice.
“Open, lord . . . open and I come.”
But Hagiwara could not
move from his couch.
“Come, my beloved,” he called for the second
time.
“I cannot come, though the separation wounds me like a sharp
sword.
Thus we suffer for the sins of a former life.” So the lady
spoke and
moaned like the lost soul that she was. But O’Yone took
her hand.
“See the round window,” she said.
Hand in hand the two
rose lightly from the earth. Like vapour they
passed through the
unguarded window. The samurai called, “Come to me,
beloved,” for
the third time.
He was answered, “Lord, I come.”
In the grey
morning Hagiwara’s servant found his master cold and
dead. At his
feet stood the peony lantern burning a weird yellow flame.
The
servant shivered, took up the lantern and blew out the light; for
“I
cannot bear it,” he said.


[ندعوك للتسجيل في المنتدى أو التعريف بنفسك لمعاينة هذه الصورة]
الرجوع الى أعلى الصفحة اذهب الى الأسفل
http://www.roufaida.ahlamontada.net
RoUrOu TiAmO
المديرة العامة
المديرة العامة
avatar

انثى

تاريخ الميلاد : 16/08/1994

العمر : 23

تاريخ التسجيل : 19/05/2009

نقاط التمميز : 6677

عدد المساهمات : 4029

السٌّمعَة : 1


مُساهمةموضوع: رد: The Peony Lantern    الخميس أغسطس 19, 2010 10:03 am

[ندعوك للتسجيل في المنتدى أو التعريف بنفسك لمعاينة هذه الصورة]


[ندعوك للتسجيل في المنتدى أو التعريف بنفسك لمعاينة هذا الرابط]
الرجوع الى أعلى الصفحة اذهب الى الأسفل
http://roufaida.ahlamontada.net
 
The Peony Lantern
الرجوع الى أعلى الصفحة 
صفحة 1 من اصل 1

صلاحيات هذا المنتدى:لاتستطيع الرد على المواضيع في هذا المنتدى
 :: (¯`°•.¸¯`°•.منتدى الأدب و الشعر .•°`¯¸.•°`¯) :: قصص وحكايات وروايات-
انتقل الى: