Not very long after Hatschihime had become maid to the sick woman, the
eldest son of the house returned home from Kioto, where he had been
studying all sorts of things. He was tired of the splendours of the town
and its pleasures, and was glad enough to be back in the green country,
among the peach-blossoms and sweet flowers. Strolling about in the early
morning, he caught sight of the girl with the odd wooden helmet on her
head, and immediately he went to his mother to ask who she was, and
where she came from, and why she wore that strange thing over her face.
His mother answered that it was a whim, and nobody could persuade her
to lay it aside; whereat the young man laughed, but kept his thoughts to
himself.
One hot day, however, he happened to be going towards home when he
caught sight of his mother’s waiting maid kneeling by a little stream
that flowed through the garden, splashing some water over her face.
The helmet was pushed on one side, and as the youth stood watching
from behind a tree he had a glimpse of the girl’s great beauty; and he
determined that no one else should be his wife. But when he told his
family of his resolve to marry her they were very angry, and made up
all sorts of wicked stories about her. However, they might have spared
themselves the trouble, as he knew it was only idle talk. ‘I have merely
to remain firm,’ thought he, ‘and they will have to give in.’ It was
such a good match for the girl that it never occurred to anyone that she
would refuse the young man, but so it was. It would not be right, she
felt, to make a quarrel in the house, and though in secret she wept
bitterly, for a long while, nothing would make her change her mind. At
length one night her mother appeared to her in a dream, and bade her
marry the young man. So the next time he asked her--as he did nearly
every day--to his surprise and joy she consented. The parents then saw
they had better make the best of a bad business, and set about
making the grand preparations suitable to the occasion. Of course the
neighbours said a great many ill-natured things about the wooden helmet,
but the bridegroom was too happy to care, and only laughed at them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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