I, however, who have a great respect for strength
and agility, much appreciate this new relative of
mine. His legs are undoubtedly the best in all
Nagasaki, and whenever I am in a hurry, I always beg
Madame Prune to send down to the djin stand, and engage
my cousin.
I arrived unexpectedly to-day at Diou-djen-dji, in
the midst of a burning noonday heat. At the foot
of the stairs lay Chrysantheme’s wooden clogs
and her sandals of varnished leather.
In our rooms, up above, all was open to the air; bamboo
blinds lowered on the sunny side, and through their
transparency came warm air and golden threads of light.
To-day, the flowers Chrysantheme had placed in our
bronze vases were lotus, and my eyes fell, as I entered,
upon their great rosy cups.
According to her usual custom, she was lying flat
on the floor enjoying her daily siesta.
What a singular originality these bouquets of Chrysantheme
always have: a something difficult to define,
a Japanese slimness, a mannered grace which we should
never succeed in imparting to them.
She was sleeping flat on her face upon the mats, her
high headdress and tortoiseshell pins standing out
boldly from the rest of the horizontal figure.
The train of her tunic prolonged her delicate little
body, like the tail of a bird; her arms were stretched
crosswise, the sleeves spread out like wings,—and
her long guitar lay beside her.
She looked like a dead fairy; or still more did she
resemble some great blue dragon-fly, which, having
alighted on that spot, some unkind hand had pinned
to the floor.
Madame Prune, who had come upstairs after me, always
officious and eager, manifested by her gestures her
sentiments of indignation on beholding the careless
reception accorded by Chrysantheme to her lord and
master, and advanced to wake her.
“Pray do nothing of the kind, my good Madame
Prune, you don’t know how much I prefer her
like that!” I had left my shoes below, according
to custom, by the side of the little clogs and sandals;
and I entered on the tips of my toes, very, very softly,
to go and sit awhile under the verandah.
What a pity this little Chrysantheme cannot always
be asleep; she is really extremely decorative seen
in this manner,—and like this, at least,
she does not bore me. Who knows what may perchance
be going on in that little head and heart! If
I only had the means of finding out! But strange
to say, since we have kept house together, instead
of pushing my studies in the Japanese language further,
I have neglected them, so much have I felt the utter
impossibility of ever interesting myself in the subject.
Seated under my verandah, my eyes wandered over the
temples and cemeteries spread at my feet, over the
woods and green mountains, over Nagasaki lying bathed
in the sunlight. The cicalas were chirping their
loudest, the strident noise trembling feverishly in
the hot air. All was calm, full of light and
full of heat.
