between the two people favoured the adoption of the more formal language of poetry. When the lovers did not actually speak to one another, they were constantly sending notes back and forth, sometimes tied to sprays of plum-blossom or red maple-leaves, if they happened to be in season. The notes, of course, were also poems, and they were judged not only by their content but by the calligraphy. The usual way a love-affair began was for a young man, who had never seen the lady of his choice, to write her a poem. Then he would wait with impatience for her reply.
“She chose a Chinese paper, very heavily scented. ‘Some fault there must be in the stem of this marsh-flower. Else it had not been left unheeded amid the miry meadows by the sea.’ Such was her poem. It was written in rather faint ink and Genji, as he eagerly scanned it, thought the hand lacking in force and decision. But there was breeding and distinction in it, more indeed than he had dared to look for; and on the whole he felt much relieved.”[1]
Sometimes, however, the ardent lover had his passion cooled:
“It was an idle repartee, and even the handwriting seemed to Prince Sochi’s expectant eye somewhat vague and purposeless. He was, indeed, not at all sure, when he saw it, that he had not made a great mistake.”[2]
No better way existed to conquer a lady’s heart than with a poem beautifully written on just the right paper. As a final touch:
“She could not but be pleased and flattered by the elegance
