and it is believed that after a thousand years its sap turns to amber; but it also implies other things, sturdiness and strength and steadfastness. Again, two Fir trees standing side by side (more especially the famous two at Takasago and Suminoye, of the popular old Nō drama) typify a husband and wife growing aged together. In the quaint old play the spirits of these trees are changed into an elderly peasant and his wife—a reversal of the plan of our folk-lore, which converts people into trees—and they converse together thus:
Tomonari, the guardian of a Shinto shrine, says, “Strange! I see you old couple here together. What mean you, then, by saying that you dwell apart, one in distant Suminoye, the other in Takasago, divided from one another by seashore, hill, and province?” To which the old woman replies, “What an odd speech! Though many a mile of mountain and river separate them, the way of a husband and wife, whose hearts respond to one another with mutual care, is not far apart.”
“The hoar frost falls
On the Fir tree twigs;
But its leaves’ dark green
Suffer no change.
Morning and evening
Beneath its shade
The leaves are swept away,
Yet they never fail.
