boyish arrangement in two folds, with the back hair drawn up. In dress too she flouted convention: a short skirt (exposing the undergarment), a coat of “eight-roll” cloth, a gold-mounted sword, medium long, and a wide rush hat of the “Mist-on-Fuji” kind. Thus attired, and accompanied by her husband, she set out each day on another, more distant excursion. “Let’s climb Mount Kōya,” she would say, “Those monks are so terribly woman-shy they’ll be fun to tease.” Or: “Now let’s go to the whale-spearing at Kumano Bay.” Her demands were endless. Surely if men yielded to all such whims, these hussies would insist on crossing the ocean—“to see the castle of that fellow Coxinga[1] one hears so much about.”
But since the poor husband had a genius for being hoodwinked, he delighted in her singular conduct (“How original to dress up like a man!”), and even took her along to Shimabara.[2] When they were shown into a reception room at Hanabishiya, he said, “See what a dashing wife I have! You won’t find such a curiosity-seeker in all China; and as for looks—well, I’m afraid your famous beauties are a little outclassed. Smart, isn’t she?” And he engaged the most celebrated courtesans, for his wife as well as himself. They gave pleasure their undivided attention: doubtless the voluptuous joys of Paradise were exceeded.
One day this couple went to a fashionable teahouse in Gion; and there, with the aid of professional jesters, they held a lavish and rather noisy party. The husband began to boast of his wife’s accomplishments. “You girls should hear her play the reed pipe,” he said. “I suppose you’re on good terms with men of discrimination, and you’ve heard all kinds of music; but it may be that a really expert artist on this instrument has not yet performed in Gion.”
At this the proprietor and his wife bowed low, pressing their foreheads tightly to the matting. “Never,” they assured him, “not once
