The past may show us things far beyond our imagination. And they, if in the right hand, can become a poem of the poems. That, of course, I can not know for I am incapable of making the words sing. The last two years my soul has lived a thousand adventures and a thousand romantic nights. But this happens only in my mind. My body, however, needs far more pathetic ways of feeding itself. And I shall not hide that my heart is lonely. They say that I am beautiful but I can not see that. But if there are so many handsome men that want me I am willing to accept that. The problem lies in the future. I am now at the age of marriage and I have to choose my love! Oh, little sparrow, tell me the answer! But you can not speak. How can I choose? I want my husband to be charming, graceful, respectful but maybe most important I want him to be a man with whom I can speak about the passion of my heart - the poems! Oh yes, I know which one it will be! It will be thee one who can give me the most romantic poem of all. And if he can not see the melody of the words I will not accept his offerings. But one can simply pay a street poet to write something and give it to me presenting it as one of his own! How can I understand who is the true master of the feather? Oh, maybe I can talk with them on four eyes about poetry and see how far can the lie go! Yes, this is what I will do!
- Mother, I found how can I choose the perfect husband for me!
- Oh, that is wonderful. Shall you tell your suitors about your conditions now or will you wait the morning of Wednesday?
- I shall speak with them now.
My dress surrounded me when I got up from the cosy chair. I told the guards to call everyone who wishes my hand in the south garden where that little white sparrow can see my decision! And in this garden there were that beautiful flower - Lisianthus. I loved his smell. It was so rempli des emotions*....I called my suitors what I wanted from them. Some of them bowed before me and excused themselves for not being able to fulfil my condition because they can not write poems and they added that they shall admire my beauty until they stop breathing. I also admired their mental power. They understood that they can not win my hand and decided that presenting themselves with a poem written by someone else is dishonourable for me too and they left the garden earning my respect.
The night that followed this Tuesday was calm and peaceful for my mind and soul. After I said good night to the sparrow I fell asleep certain that tomorrow will be a good day.