Page:Four Japanese Tales.pdf/36

 the grave of the two semi, the solitary man had a strange dream. He dreamt about the garden which he had fostered for twenty years, not, however as a tiny toy but as a landscape through which he himself walked. The pine raised by his grandfather towered to a formidable height the various statues which in the course of the twenty years he had placed here and there overtopped his own stature, and even the bamboo fence surrounding the garden seemed to him extraordinarily massive and high. His creations, before so tiny, now revealed his art to him in a new light, and he began to feel equal to a work of fullgrown art of which he before had thought himself incapable. The temple on the mountain beckoned to him from the distance majestically; not even the magnificent buildings of sacred Nikko had made such an impression on him as now his own work. All at once it seemed to him that the had been a dream and that this was reality; but in that case he would be a great artist, and great artists are always beautiful because from out of their eyes there shines the creative power of gods. His chest broadened, his stature grew in height. He went up the path to the temple that was his work, feeling sure something had come into his life that would change it completely. But upon reaching the shrine, he stopped in wonder. From out of its twilight, in which the metal mirror glittered like a precious stone, there emerged a blind old man of a noble and venerable appearance. His looks seemed familiar to him, and his voice still more so. “This temple is your heart and my heart”, said the aged man, smiling kindly. “Listen to your heart, that it may not speak in vain.” At that moment the lone man awoke; but it was still long before morning, and he fell asleep before he could fix his dream in his memory.

The days dragged by slowly. He had become used to working near his garden, and the song of the semi had put him into the mood for work, had made his fingers more joyful, his imagination more supple; even now he would sit for hours by the, but his fingers were heavy and his brain heavier still. He often caught himself gazing fixedly into empty space, and vaguely it seemed to him that he was trying hard to remember something, something beautiful, which would change his life from its very foundations. He believed that his desire would be fulfilled in the end; perhaps it was to be regretted that he gave himself up to vain illusions, but it was his fate, and could not be change future incarnations perhaps his desire would be directed wae; higher and more perfect planes, but now he longed for love, for a wife.