Onoto Watanna

“ Without, the maid bent her face to the mats, stifling her sobs in her sleeves. Within, the little princess hesitated a moment in doubt, then rushed to the death couch, threw herself down by the still form there, and unmindful of those within, encircled it with her arms. But no cry escaped her lips, for well had she been bred as a Daughter of the Sun-god by the old Empress Dowager.
The days that followed were hazy and unreal to Sado-ko. Strange women and men, with cold impassive faces, were about her at all times. ”

“ She lingered on in melancholy discontent, her chin upon her hand, her embroidery frame idle at her side.
Beyond a few servants of the household no one was at home save Masago. She knew that her thoughts and meditations would be free from interruption, and so she gave herself up to them unreservedly, with inward passion.
The Yamada house was situated on a rising eminence. From the maiden Masago’s casement the golden peaks of the palace Aoyama were visible. It was upon these points that the young girl fixed her eyes with a vague expression of suffering, wistfulness, and yearning. ”

“ The artist, in his illness, had been attended by one he called “Sado-ko.” When fever left him and partial sense and reason crept back to his weakened brain, growing daily with the strength of his physical body, he marvelled over that exquisite face that bent above him.
And then one day his sister, Haru-no, had called her by name—Masago! A light broke through the dazzled brain of Junzo. She who nursed him with tender care was not a princess, but a simple maiden of his own class, and, most marvellous, she was his own betrothed, the virtuous maid Masago! ”

“ In the morning her eyes opened upon a new world. As the day streamed through the bamboo curtains of her norimon, she pushed them aside, to see that they were passing along what seemed to be a stone road, upon either side of which were endless buildings unlike anything she had ever seen before. Although there were throngs of people everywhere, a strange and solemn silence prevailed, as the norimon and parade of the princess passed along, and the people bent their heads to the earth. Sado-ko could see that many of the women and some of the men wept. ”

“ Smiling, she sighed with happiness.
“Poor Sado-ko!” she said.
His voice was earnest.
“I loved you in her, Masago.”
She smiled in sweetest confidence now.
“That is true,” she said. “I do believe it, and to-morrow—”
“To-morrow will be a golden day upon the august calendar of our lives. I love you! Men of our country do not always marry for their love, Masago, but the gods are kind, and favor us!”
“How sad,” she said, “it must be to marry one for whom we do not care!”
“It is the fate of many in our land.”
“The times change, Junzo-san. Are not conditions happier to-day?” ”

“ You love your home, of course, and also your good parents?”
“It is said I am of an honorably dutiful and filial temperament,” replied Masago, coldly.
“But,” continued Sado-ko, “there are other things you love still more than your dear home? It is possible?”
“It is so,” replied Masago, briefly. “Do not look surprised, O princess. Homes are not all palaces, nor yet are parents all royal.”
“Masago,” said the princess gently, “a palace never makes a home, nor royalty a parent. Your home,” she looked about her with approving eyes,—“it is most sweet and choice, Masago.” ”

“ Two months had passed since Junzo left Kamakura, when the belated word came from Tokyo. Yamada Kwacho had found the wandering Junzo.
No member of the Kamura family retired that night. Even the smallest child knelt by the shoji and watched for Junzo. A series of heavy rains had darkened the days and nights. The clinging fog of the Hayama hung heavily in the atmosphere.
Not a star or gleam of moon shone out to soften the blackness of the night sky. ”

“ Yamada Kwacho was more brusque, however. He drew the girl away from Ohano by her sleeves, but when he saw her face, he started in astonished bewilderment.
“I do not understand,” he said dazedly, “Junzo—Masago—” He turned to them for enlightenment.
Sado-ko spoke with perfect clearness. Her eyes were wide and steady, but there was no color in her face.
“The woman seems demented, father. She thinks that she is other than herself—your daughter. But look upon her garments. See the crest upon her sleeves! She evidently is some high lady. Her mind is wandering in delusion.” ”

“ Tears, welling up from her aching heart, dropped unheeded from her eyes. She made no effort to wipe them away, or to conceal her childish grief and agony. So this lately elevated princess, affianced to a future emperor, sat by his side in a public place, with tears running down her face. The Crown Prince was impatient at this display of weak emotion, she knew, and her action was unbefitting a princess of Japan; nevertheless she found herself repeating over and over again in her heart:—
“I am not a princess! I am not a princess! I am only the maid Masago. That is all. ”

“ He was so noble, so great. O princess! he spoke to all that gaping herd like man to man, with less of condescension than the lordly politicians of the capital,—he whose august feet should not have deigned to touch the earth.”
“Nay,” interposed the princess, smiling quietly, “Komatzu is a modern. The times have changed, Masago. No longer are the royal ones called gods.”
“Yet like unto a god he was,” declared the girl, “for I saw with these eyes.”
“Which love had sweetly blinded,” smiled the princess, sympathetically. She, also, arose, and put her hand upon Masago’s arm, leaning against her. ”

“ The sound of the soft laughter hurt the artist. He scarcely could command his words.
“Guileless princess, I pray you do not laugh!”
“Not laugh?” she repeated. “You are to-day a most unflattering artist. Was it only yesterday you said my laughter was as sweet as sweetest music of the sweetest birds?”
She passed her fan over her shoulder to the maid Natsu-no, who, whirling it open, fanned her gently. Sado-ko smiled reproachfully at Junzo, as she sat by a golden screen, near to a shoji through which the sinking sun pierced and slanted just above her head. ”

“ Junzo frowned gloomily through the windows into the brightly lighted room, now quickly filling. A trumpet blast, full and clear, resounded somewhere in the palace.
“Who enters now?” asked Junzo.
“The noble Prince Komatzu. Note the change upon his face, artist. Love prints her fingers on one’s countenance as clearly as can be.”
“And who comes now?”
“Put close your face against the barbarian pane. You see quite plainly?”
“Quite so.”
“Well, look your full, Sir Artist. It is the Princess Sado-ko who comes.”
He saw a glittering, spangled gown, low of neck and long of train. ”

“ Lady Fuji-no suppressed a yawn behind her fan, then turned impatiently toward the balcony whence came the ceaseless sound of the bird’s movement.
“It is ill?” asked Junzo, shivering at those dumb signals of distress.
“Why, no—yes—you might so call it.”
“How sad it must be for the princess,” he murmured. “She loved the bird as though it were a human thing.”
The Lady Fuji curled her scornful lip.
“Talk not, artist, of love in the same breath with Sado-ko. If it is love to cage a helpless thing—”
“Caged, you say! I do not understand. ”

“ IT was such another moonlight night as that on which the Princess Sado-ko kept her last tryst with the artist Junzo, but in the Nijo gardens no sight was reminiscent of the flowering gardens of Komatzu. No bamboo grove offered inviting lanes for loitering lovers, no stately camphor trees threw their flickering shadows of mystery upon the moonlit grass. ”

“ But then,” she sighed, and resumed the walk, “an artist is no less a man, and therefore fickle.”
They did not speak again until they reached Yamada’s house. At the little garden gate they paused.
“How quiet all the world seems to-night!” she said.
“You say that in a melancholy tone of voice, Masago.”
“Yes, I am a little melancholy. It is the season and the night. Have you forgotten, Junzo, that to-morrow—”
He did not let her finish, but seized both her hands.
“How can you ask that question? I think of that to-morrow every second. To-night I will not sleep.” ”

“ Such an existence was fraught with dreamful possibilities of happiness. As Junzo’s thoughts became clear, this was his solution of what he termed his recent madness: He had loved Masago from the first, he told himself. The very gods had planned their union. Before he had known fully the heart of his betrothed, she was sent away to school. By chance this Princess Sado-ko crossed his path, the image of the maid Masago. It was because of this he had thought he loved her, while it was the other he loved. This was proved by the fact that with a lover’s adoration he was now drawn to Masago. ”

“ She paused, watching with narrowed eyes the paling face of Junzo.
“For my part,” she said, “I do not know the tenor of your letter, nor the request you dared to make of her Highness; but this I know, Sir Artist: to-night, if you accept this invitation, though you look at her with the keen eyes of love, you scarce will recognize your Princess Sado-ko.”
“She is so changed?”
“So changed? Well, no and yes. Changed not in looks, artist, for beauty such as hers fades only with old age, but changed in ways, in action, speech, in very thought. You sighed, Sir Artist.” ”

“ But her grandmother was too old to run with her about the gardens, and ofttimes the birds, and the butterflies too, flew over the stone wall and disappeared, to the tearful anxiety of the little princess, who was sure they would meet great harm.
As the children of the retainers of the Empress Dowager were not permitted to visit the private gardens of the palace, Sado-ko had grown up without playmates of her own age. She was being reared in that seclusion befitting a descendant of the sun-goddess, and in quite the ancient style to which her grandmother still clung. ”

“ He looked searchingly into her eyes. Then as if satisfied he stooped and kissed her lips, a habit they had recently adopted at court.
“I have suffered, Sado-ko, more than I ever dreamed possible. I thought this artist-fellow was alone responsible for your action.”
“Komatzu, he is already betrothed to the merchant’s daughter, a simple maid, who bears a small resemblance to me.”
He made a gesture of denial.
“That is impossible, princess. What, you compare one of her class with you! It is most gracious. No one in all the land can equal you in beauty.” ”

“ Her words were slow and cruel:—
“Of a truth, Sir Artist, the picture of her Imperial Highness is unfinished.”
He did not speak. The lady leaned toward him, thrusting her face within the range of his vision.
“Is this the honorable portrait of our Princess Sado-ko, which she will make as exchange gift to her affianced, Prince Komatzu?” she asked.
The artist turned his face painfully aside. Then the Duchess Aoi spoke:—
“Artist,” she said, “we most humble and insignificant ones copy the august fashions from her Highness. Pray you, paint my picture in just so fine a style.” ”

“ The maid’s head bowed forward mutely. After that there was a long silence. Then Sado-ko arose to her feet, her hands pressed to her face on either side. Her eyes, between her little parted fingers, were staring out in shocked horror. Her strange silence stilled the sobbing maid, who tremulously arose.
“And if it please thee, noble princess,” she said, “his August Majesty is below and commands thy immediate presence.”
Sado-ko did not speak or move. The maid falteringly touched one of the drooping sleeves.
“Nay, do not look so, sweet mistress,” she implored; “the gods will not desert you. ”

“ But while all was gay and brilliant in the new ball-room of the palace Komatzu, that wing of the palace reserved for the Princess Sado-ko was in blackness.
Sado-ko stood alone in her darkened chamber. She had dismissed her personal attendant, Natsu-no, though the latter crouched by the inner shoji, her eye peering into the adjoining room, watching and guarding her mistress.
It had not been difficult for Sado-ko to retire from the ball, when the dancing had begun, for her aversion to all such modern pastimes was well known. ”

“ Stooping, he kissed the soft, white flesh, in the emotional French way.
“All yours, Komatzu!” Junzo heard her sigh in answer. The artist did not move. Like a man turned suddenly to stone, he simply stared out at the scene, with fixed eyes. He heard as in a dream the voice of this proud prince whispering again to her, who but so lately clung to him, the lowly artist, with such piteous tears and prayers.
“To-morrow,” said the prince, “his Majesty will come to Tokyo. I will present myself before him and importune him to seal our betrothal. ”

“ She clings to the despairing fancy that when her Highness sees you again, her feelings and also her dress will undergo a change, and that the old Sado-ko will once again bewitch the artist, and perchance save Komatzu for the Duchess Aoi.”
“The duchess would prevent the marriage?” asked the artist, quietly.
“She is fairly mad to do so, artist, while I am equally determined to have it so. Now to which of us do you choose to lend yourself as a weapon?”
“Lady,” said Junzo, gravely, “there is a Western proverb: ‘Between two evils, choose the lesser.’ Tell me, which of you is the lesser evil?” ”

“ In the shadow of the last bamboo the princess stood and trembled. She did not need to peer into the distance, for all was clear outside the bamboo grove, as far off as the dividing line of the boxwood shrub and the small white gate. How long she stood in silent waiting she could not have told. Every passing summer breeze made her shiver. Once she raised her hand to her face, and something wet was wiped away. ”

“ The artist did not move, but his eyes met those of the royal Prince Komatzu. The latter glared upon him fiercely.
“What means this rude intrusion?” demanded Kwacho. “We are simple citizens. Why are we disturbed?”
He was interrupted by the screaming of Masago. She rushed toward Komatzu, crying out:—
“You, you, you—He has sent you for me—oh-h—”
She swayed and fell even as she spoke.
Without a word of explanation the Prince Komatzu himself stooped to the floor. Lifting in his arms the senseless form of the maid Masago, he bore it to the royal norimon without the house. ”

“ The little cup which Masago had lifted toward her lips fell suddenly from her hand, its contents spilling on the tray. She seemed scarcely conscious of its fall, as she turned an eager and flushed face toward Kamura. She spoke for the first time, repeating half mechanically his words:—
“The Prince Komatzu—”
“Yes,” said Kamura, affably, “a cousin of his Imperial Majesty,” and he bowed his head to the mats in old-fashioned deference to the name of the Mikado.
“Why,” spoke up the simple Ohano, her eyes wide and bright, “we have his august picture.” ”

“ Then, as though she put aside some late physical weakness, the other crossed and faced her.
“I am the maid Masago, with whom you exchanged your state, Princess Sado-ko,” she said.
There was silence for a moment, then the low-toned, deliberate denial of the other one.
“It is not true,” she said.
Masago turned toward the artist.
“Look at me!” she said. “You do not dare, you artist-man. You know that I speak truth.” ”