Prevod

Long ago, at a great banquet given by Lord Ononomiya, a thoughtless attendant accidentally dislodged a crimson hosonaga robe of gloss-beaten silk that accompanied a set of women’s garments sent as a gift by Lord Kujō, and dropped it into the garden stream. It was immediately lifted out and shaken; the water flew off, and the robe was dry. Even the sleeve on the side that had fallen into the water showed not the slightest sign of wetness, and the beaten sheen remained just as it had been. Such was the quality of gloss-beaten silk in those days. On another occasion, Lord Nishinomiya invited Lord Ononomiya to be the guest of honor at his great banquet. But Ononomiya was old and suffered from pain in his back, so he could not perform the ceremonial bows in the courtyard. He replied, “I fear I cannot attend. If it rains, there will be no courtyard bows, and I shall come; if it does not, I cannot.” Nishinomiya therefore prayed fervently for rain. Perhaps in answer to his prayers, when the day came, the sky grew overcast and a gentle rain began to fall, without seeming at all out of the ordinary. Lord Ononomiya entered the hall by a side entrance. On an island in the pond stood a single great, tall pine. Everyone who saw it would say, “If only there were wisteria trailing from it!” And so, although the banquet was held in the first month, exquisite artificial wisteria blossoms had been made and hung thickly from the very crown of the pine. Things out of season are usually displeasing, yet beneath the cloudy sky and softly falling rain these flowers looked wonderfully beautiful. Their reflection lay on the surface of the pond, and when the wind blew, the flowers and their image upon the water swayed together. One could only think that this must be what was meant by “waves of wisteria.” At a later date, the minister of Tomikōji gave a great banquet. His residence was shabby, and the arrangements in every part of it looked painfully contrived, so the guests thought it a sorry affair. As evening fell and the proceedings gradually drew toward their close, the time came to present the parting gifts. Behind a curtain stretched in front of the eastern gallery stood a horse intended as a gift. From within the curtain it suddenly neighed, and its voice rang through the sky. The guests were marveling at the sound when it kicked through a curtain pole, tore itself free of the man holding its bridle, and came out into view. It was a dark chestnut, a little over eight spans high, so broad and well-fleshed that its body seemed almost flat across. A white marking on its forehead gleamed like the full moon. The cries of admiration rose until they were almost deafening. In its bearing, the shape of its head, the set of its tail, and the placing of its feet, there was not a single fault to be found: every feature was in perfect harmony. The shabbiness of the house and its arrangements was quite forgotten, and the occasion became a splendid one. Thus the story has been handed down through the generations.