Daughters of Nijo: A Romance of Japan
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.
After that those within the house heard the sounds of departure. Then
silence in the night. Kwacho returned from the veranda.
“They have gone in the direction of the palace Aoyama—some demented
princess, doubtless.” He turned to Junzo, “I trust you will pardon the
interruption of your visit in my house.”
The artist returned his host’s bow mechanically, then looked with some
stealthiness toward his fiancée. When he found her eyes fixed upon his
face imploringly, he could not look at her.
“The night grows late,” he said heavily; “permit me to say good night.”
He bowed deeply to all, departing without another word to Sado-ko. She
moved toward the doors. Turning in the path, he saw her standing there.
That night, when husband and wife lay side by side upon their
mattresses, Kwacho, moving restlessly, said:—
“The woman had a countenance so strangely like our girl’s it disturbs my
mind. Yet, Shaka! how different were their ways! How much more admirable
the simple, unaffected manners of our country girl! I wonder why the
woman came—”
“Listen, Kwacho,” said Ohano, sitting up, “I have heard, sometime, that
the Princess Sado-ko once loved our Junzo. Yes, it is so! You need not
move so angrily. Do you not recall that when he was ill he called upon
her name repeatedly?”
“I tell you,” her husband answered angrily, “the boy is fairly sick with
his affection for Masago. Only a woman’s foolish mind could imagine
otherwise.”
Ohano lay down again.
“A woman’s wiser mind, Kwacho. I am convinced this princess came to take
our Junzo from Masago.”
“Go to sleep, Ohano,” growled her husband; “surmises and convictions are
sometimes treasonable and wicked.”
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CHAPTER XXVII
A GRACIOUS PRINCESS AT LAST
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CHAPTER XXVII
A GRACIOUS PRINCESS AT LAST
THE following morning Masago, irritated and nervous, sat in a chamber of
the palace Aoyama. Impatiently she chided Madame Bara, the chaperon.
“I am tired of your voice,” she said. “Do not speak further, or better
still, leave me, if you please.”
The woman, bowing deeply, left her mistress alone. Then Masago called:—
“Natsu-no! Where are you?”
Upon the instant appeared the waiting-woman of the Princess Sado-ko.
Masago instructed:—
“Look out once again and tell me if he comes.”
There was silence for a moment, as the maid passed into the adjoining
room and leaning from the casement looked toward the front part of the
palace. Soon her voice, raised and mechanical, answered the impatient
query of Masago.
“He comes not yet!” she said.
“Look again,” said Masago; “do not leave the casement until he comes.”
Natsu-no was no longer young. She shivered at the open casement through
which came the morning air; her eyes were blue with cold, and tired for
sleep, for Natsu-no had spent the night in secret tears. After all these
days she knew now where her mistress was, yet fate—a thing she was too
insignificant to fight against—chained her like a slave to this
girl-autocrat.
When, from the direction of the palace reserved for the men of the
household, Komatzu appeared, the woman drew the shutters. Then,
shuffling to the other room, she announced, “He comes!”
Masago sprang to her feet. She held out both her hands toward Komatzu
when he entered, but he did not touch them. His eyes were dark, drawn
into a heavy frown.
“Have you heard the joyful news?” she cried.
“What news?”
“Word came this morning by the divine barbarian wires from Tokyo that my
betrothal with the Crown Prince had been peremptorily annulled. Why, you
do not appear glad at the news!”
“I have heard it,” he said; “there are other things which trouble me.
Princess, I ask an explanation of your Highness. Nay, I demand it. Some
months ago a rumor coupled your name with a low artist-man. You start
and blush. Was the rumor only malice?”
Masago looked at him reproachfully. She said:—
“Purely so.”
“Then, cousin, give me an explanation of your last night’s conduct. You
have recovered from your indisposition, which still had a cause. Why did
you journey in such haste to Kamakura?”
Tears fell. Masago’s voice broke and trembled. “I was homesick,” she
replied in a low voice; “that is the truth, Komatzu. The gods are my
witnesses.”
“Homesick for the merchant’s home, friends of the artist-man?”
She averted her face, not hesitating in her deceit.
“Your jealousy is misplaced, Komatzu. They told you truly last night. I
was—as women often are—witless. Who would not be at such a shock?”
“You speak of your betrothal?”
“I do. Do you not understand, Komatzu?”
She went closer to him. “The thought of union with another than yourself
unnerved me.”
He spoke impetuously, and as though a weight was lifted from his mind:—
“Princess, could I believe your words, I would be the happiest prince in
all the land.”
“Believe them,” she pleaded. “It is the truth I speak; I swear it by all
the eight million gods of heaven, and by our ancestor, the Sun-god. I
went to Kamakura, rashly, blindly, wildly, because of love for you.”
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.”
She smiled in happiness.
“Your journey was a fortunate event, though a morsel for the gossips,
princess. Do you know that this latest caprice so moved the young and
easily shocked Crown Prince, that in disgust he hastened to his father,
and on his knees besought him to grant another wife?”
They laughed.
“What happened next?”
“One hour after you left Tokyo, Sado-ko was humiliated, her betrothal
being publicly annulled. It made a noisy story for a space.”
“And next what happened?”
“Next, I too presented myself before his Majesty, who, being uncle as
well as father, was ready to condone offence unfitted for a future
Empress. Consequently, when I begged him to grant me your hand in
marriage, he graciously consented.”
“And you followed me at once?”
“At once.”
When Komatzu had left her, Masago stood for some time looking from the
casement of the palace.
“To think,” she murmured, “of the folly I was near to committing but
last night. The court is cold and heartless, yet it is my true, true
home, for there is the only one on earth who loves me.” She sighed. “I
am an outcast from my childhood’s home—even my stupid mother denies me.
It was fitting!”
The voice of the waiting-woman, Natsu-no, broke upon her meditations.
“Exalted princess!” She turned slowly toward the woman. At her haggard
aspect she was touched.
“What is it, Natsu-no?” she asked with compassion.
“I am no longer young,” said the woman. “I was handmaiden to the mother
of the Princess Sado-ko, and from her birth I served the latter.”
“You have been faithful,” said Masago, kindly.
“Will, then, the illustrious one reward the faithful service of the most
humble one?”
“What do you wish? It is already granted,” said Masago, generously, for
she was happy.
“Permission,” said the woman, “to leave your service.”
Masago looked closely into her face.
“You wish to serve again—”
She did not finish the sentence, nor did the woman. Their eyes met. Each
understood the other.
“You are free to go,” said Masago, gently.
The woman moved away.
“Stay,” said Masago, “I have a message for you to carry to your
mistress. Say this for me: ‘She who is now Princess Sado-ko sets free
your maid. She wishes with all her heart she had done likewise with the
nightingale.’”
Natsu-no touched with her head the hem of Masago’s robe.
“You are a gracious princess,” she murmured.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER XXVIII
“THE GODS KNEW BEST!”
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CHAPTER XXVIII
“THE GODS KNEW BEST!”
IT wanted but a few hours before the noon wedding when Sado-ko,
appearing on her balcony, looked down into the garden, where her lover
waited. Down the little flight of stairs straight to him she went,
silently accepting from his hands flowers. Her eyes were fixed upon his
face lovingly, but anxiously.
“You look so pale,” she said. “Did you not sleep last night, my Junzo?”
“I did not sleep,” he said. “Come, let us walk where it is more
secluded. I wish to speak with you alone.”
In a dreamy, pensive fashion she walked beside him. They crossed the
little garden bridge to a quiet, shady spot. Once out of sight of the
house, Junzo stopped short and, turning, faced her.
“Last night,” he said, “one told a nightmare story, which you denied.
The morning is come. Tell me the truth.”
A flush spread over her face, as though she were half angered with him.
She would not raise her eyes to his. His voice was firm—stern:—
“Answer me.”
“I cannot,” she replied, “when you speak in such a tone.”
Her heaving bosom told him she was on the verge of tears. Gently he took
her hands in his and held them. His voice was tenderness itself.
“Now tell me all,” he said.
She tried to meet his eyes, but could not. Then she sought to draw her
hands from his, while she averted her face.
“I would not speak of sad matters on my wedding-day. There is naught to
tell.” She added the last sentence with swift vehemence.
“There is much to tell,” he said gravely. “I am your lover—soon your
husband. Before that time, tell me the secret which rests between us
now. If there is no truth in that woman, reassure my doubts.”
“Can love and doubt exist together?”
“If you loved me, you would trust me,” he replied gravely, ignoring her
question.
She threw her head back with a swift, brave motion.
“Do you truly love me?”
“With all my heart.”
“You love Sado-ko?”
He did not answer.
“Ah, how blind you have been,” she said, “that Sado-ko could make you
think she were other than herself. It was a strange test of your love,
Junzo.”
“Then it is true!” he said, making a movement of recoil from her.
“It is true that I am Sado-ko,” she said.
He stared at her blankly. Then suddenly he covered his face with his
hands and groaned.
“The gods have pity on us both!” he said.
“Why should the gods have pity?” asked the Princess Sado-ko. “They have
already blessed us. We are happy, Junzo.”
“Happy!” he repeated. “Guileless one, do you not see our happiness is so
slight and dangerous a thing we cannot hold it?”
“But why may we not?”