After ten minutes of this mad race he saw the hind-quarters of a horse in a cloud of dust. The Prince was gaining ground; he soon saw a floating veil, and a man, who turned his head in alarm.
"What man is that who dares clasp her in his arms?" thought Nagato, gnashing his teeth.
The despoiler plunged into a valley; the Prince was dose upon him. The man, seeing that all was lost, slipped down from his horse and escaped on foot, leaving the Queen behind.
The Prince thought he recognized in the fugitive Faxibo, the groom promoted to be the confidant of Hieyas.
It was indeed he. This rogue, who respected nothing, seeing that the day was lost and the Mikado out of reach, thought of the Kisaki, alone and defenceless in the summer-palace; he at once realized the value of such a prize, and resolved to carry off his sovereign. He entered the palace, on the plea of being an envoy from Yama-Kava. He was on horseback; the Queen stepped forward on the balcony. He instantly seized her, and fled before the servants had recovered from their surprise.
The Prince had no time to pursue Faxibo, as the horse which bore the Queen continued to run.
Nagato rushed after her and caught her in his arms; she had fainted.
He carried her into the shade of a tea-shrub, and laid her on the grass; then he dropped upon one knee, trembling with emotion, desperate, and distracted. The furious course which he had just run, the fatigue of the fight, and his sleepless night, clouded his mind. He thought that he was dreaming; he gazed at the being who had never ceased to occupy his every thought, and blessed the illusion which led him to fancy her beside him.
Lying in a careless, graceful position, very pale, her head thrown back, her body swathed in a lilac crape robe whose folds were stirred by the rapid palpitations of her heart, she seemed asleep. Her sleeve was slightly disarranged, revealing her arm; her little hand, stretched out upon the grass, palm uppermost, looked like a water-lily.
"What supreme beauty!" thought the enraptured Prince; "assuredly the Goddess of the Sun could be no more resplendent! Light seems to radiate from her white skin; her mouth is crimsoned with the life-blood of a flower; her large eyes, beneath their long black lashes, are like two swallows drowned in milk. Do not fade, celestial vision! Remain ever thus: my eyes are riveted upon thee!"
Gradually a sense of reality returned to him; he remembered that she was suffering, while he forgot to aid her. But what could he do? He looked around him for a brook or waterfall; he saw nothing. Then he opened his fan and waved it gently above the Queen's face. She remained motionless. The Prince took her hand, thinking that she might be cold; but he sprang quickly to his feet and started back, alarmed by the deep agitation which the touch of those soft warm fingers aroused in his bosom. He called; no one replied. Those who had followed him in pursuit of the Queen's abductor, instead of turning into the valley, had kept straight on.
Nagato returned to the Kisaki; it seemed to him that she stirred. He knelt beside her once more, and gazed into her face. She opened her eyes; then shut them again, as if dazzled by the light. The Prince bent over her. "Beloved Queen," he sighed, "revive! revive!" She opened her eyes a second time, and saw the Prince. Then an enchanting smile hovered upon her lips. A bird sang above them.
"Is it you, Iwakura?" she said, in a faint voice; "have you come back to me at last? You see that death is merciful, and has reunited us!"
"Alas!" said the Prince, "we still live."
The Kisaki sat up, and leaning on one hand, looked all about her, striving to recollect what had happened; then her eyes returned to Nagato.
"Did not some man tear me from my palace, and carry me brutally away?" she asked.
"A miserable wretch did indeed commit that crime, worthy of a thousand deaths."
"What did he mean to do with me?"
"He meant to imprison you, so that he might impose his own terms on the Mikado."
"Villain!" cried the Queen. "I can guess the rest," she added: "you pursued my ravisher, and rescued me. I am not surprised. I called upon you in the midst of my danger! Just now, when I lost consciousness, I thought of you; I invoked your aid."
With these words the Kisaki cast down her eyes and turned away her head, as if ashamed of such an avowal.
"Oh! I conjure you," cried the Prince, "do not take back those words; do not repent that you pronounced them!"
The Kisaki raised her large eyes to the Prince with a prolonged gaze. "I do not repent," she said. "I love you; I acknowledge it proudly. My love is as pure as a star; I have no cause to conceal it. I have reflected much in your absence. I was terrified by the feeling which took deeper possession of me daily; I considered myself criminal; I strove to conquer my heart, to silence my thoughts; but to no avail. Can the flower refuse to bud and bloom,—the star refuse to shine? Can the night rebel when day triumphs over it, as you have triumphed over my soul?"
"Do I hear aright? Do lips like yours address such words to me?" exclaimed the Prince. "You love me! you, the Daughter of the Gods! Then let me bear you hence; let us fly from the kingdom to some distant land which will be a paradise. You are mine if you love me. I have been so miserable! Now my happiness weighs me to the ground. Come, let us hasten; life is too short to hold such bliss."
"Prince," said the Queen, "the confession which I have made to you, being what I am, should show you how far my love is removed from earthly thoughts. I do not belong to myself in this world; I am a wife; I am a sovereign; no guilty deed can ever be committed by me. My soul surrenders itself to you, against my will; could I hide it from you? But if I spoke to-day, it was merely because we shall never meet again on earth."
"Never meet again!" cried the Prince, in horror. "Why do you say so cruel a thing? Why, after opening heaven to my gaze for a brief instant, do you hurl me suddenly down to the torments of hell? To be deprived of your presence will as surely kill me as to be deprived of light and air."
Nagato covered his face, to hide the tears which he could not restrain. But the Queen gently drew his hands aside, saying: "Do not weep. What is life? A trifle by the side of eternity. We shall meet again, I am very sure."
"But if death deceive us," said the Prince; "if life ends in annihilation; if all is over with the last sigh?"
"That is impossible," she answered with a smile, "because my love is infinite."
"It is well," said the Prince; "I will kill myself."
"Swear that you will do nothing of the kind!" exclaimed the Kisaki. "What do we know of the will of Heaven? We may not have the right to escape our destiny; and if we do not yield to it, we may be forced to return to earth.".
"But it is impossible; I cannot endure to live!" said the Prince. "Do you not see how I suffer? You say you love me, and you torture me thus!"
"Do you think I do not suffer too? I swear to you that I will die of my love without taking refuge in suicide."
The Prince had thrown himself upon the sod, his face in the grass; convulsive sobs shook his frame.
"You drive me to despair, Iwakura!" cried the Queen; "all my strength will vanish before your grief. I am but a woman in your presence; my will is no longer supreme. What must I do to dry your tears?"
"Allow me to see you from time to time as heretofore," said the Prince; "then only can I consent to wait for death."
"Meet again after what I have told you!"
"I will forget it, if need be, divine friend; I will remain your humble and submissive servant. No word or look shall ever betray the just pride which fills my soul."
The Queen smiled as she saw happiness once more illumine the still moist eyes of the Prince. "You have vanquished me," said she; "and yet I thought my resolution fixed. May I never be punished for my weakness!"
"Punished! For what?" said the Prince. "What evil do we commit? Are not all the nobles of the Court admitted to your presence? Should I alone be exiled because I am blind to everything but your beauty? Would not that be unjust?"
"It would be wise and prudent," said the Queen, sighing, "But I have yielded; let us say no more about it, but return to the palace," she added; "my people must be seeking for me still. We must let them know that I am safe."
"Oh, stay one moment more!" murmured the Prince; "we shall never again meet as now, in the midst of Nature, alone, far from every eye. Civil war, crime, and sacrilege were required to bring about this condition of things. To-morrow all the ceremony of your rank will surround you once more; I can only address you from afar."
"Who knows what may happen yet?" said the Queen.
"The Mikado sought refuge in the fortress, which was at once surrounded by soldiers; I was forced to remain in the summer-palace. All this has happened since morning. The rebels had the upper hand—"
"But since then they have been completely conquered," said the Prince; "the hostile General is killed, and his army has surrendered; the Mikado is free. But let us not talk of that. What matters the war? Tell me: how long have you loved me?"
"Ever since I knew you," said the Kisaki, casting down her eyes. "I never suspected it, until jealousy revealed my love to me."
"You jealous!"
"Yes, and madly. I felt a strange and constant pain; I could not sleep; all pleasures annoyed me. I gave way to my anger continually, and I abused my women. The one whom I thought you loved, I loathed. One evening I drove her from my presence because she betrayed her love by an exclamation on seeing you leaning against a tree. I returned to my palace. I can see you still in the moonlight, pale, with burning eyes."
"Did you not see that I looked at you alone?"
"No; and all night long I wept in silence."
"Oh, do not drive me mad!" cried the Prince.
"You see," said she, "I conceal nothing from you; I lay my heart bare before you, confident of your loyalty."
"I am worthy of your confidence," said the Prince; "my love is as pure as your own."
"A few days later," continued the Queen, "you knelt before me in the audience-chamber. Surprised at your emotion, I permitted myself to speak of my maid-of-honor. You cried out that you did not love her, casting upon me a look in which all your soul was visible. Do you remember what a scornful, angry air I assumed? If you knew what ineffable joy overwhelmed me: the gazelle seized in the tiger's claws, then let suddenly loose, must feel something of my sensations. I knew then that it was I whom you loved; your look and your emotion told me so. When I left you, I hurried into the gardens and wrote the verses which I gave you so indifferently.
"They lie here upon my heart," said the Prince; "they never leave me."
"Do you recognize this?" said the Kisaki, showing the Prince a fan thrust into the girdle of silver brocade which encircled her waist.
"No," said Nagato; "what may that be?"
She took out the fan, and opened it. It was of white paper, sprinkled with gold. In one corner was a tuft of reeds and two storks flying over; at the other end were four lines of poetry, written in Chinese characters.
"The thing which we love more than all else, we prefer that no oneelse should love.It belongs to another.So the willow, which takes root in our garden,Bends, blown by the wind, and adorns our neighbor's wall withits branches."
"Those are the verses which I wrote in the western orchard!" cried the Prince. "Have you preserved that fan?"
"I never use any other," said the Kisaki.
They broke into pleased laughter, forgetful of their past sufferings, dwelling with delight on this moment of happiness. The Queen no longer spoke of returning to the palace.
"If you were my brother!" she suddenly exclaimed; "if I might pass my life in your society without giving rise to slander, how swiftly the days would pass."
"And you wanted to drive me from you, cruel one!"
"The queen issued that order; before your tears the woman could not obey! But tell me now, how did you happen to fall in love with me?"
"I have long loved you," said the Prince. "My love was born before you ever saw me. When my father abdicated in my favor, I came to take the oath of allegiance to the Mikado. As I left the audience-chamber, you passed by me on the balcony. I thought it was Ten-Sio-Dai-Tsin herself; I was mute with surprise and admiration. Your eyes were lowered; your long lashes cast a shadow on your cheeks. I can see you now, if I close my eyes. A white peacock was embroidered on your robe; lotos-blossoms decked your hair; your hand, hanging by your side, negligently-waved a fan of pheasant-plumes. It was only a flash: you disappeared; but thenceforth I lived but for you.—I did not return to the palace until a year later."
"It was then I first saw you," said the Queen. "Every one was talking of you; my women never wearied of the theme; your praises were on every lip. I was curious to see the hero to whom every virtue was attributed, who was adorned with every grace. Hidden behind a blind, I watched you as you crossed the great courtyard of the Dairi. I thought that rumor did not do you justice; and I moved away, strangely agitated."
"As for me, I left the palace without seeing you again; I was a prey to gloomy sorrow. For a year I had patiently awaited the moment when I hoped I might catch another glimpse of you; and the year's delay ended in disappointment. I could not help coming back a few days later; on this occasion I was admitted to a festival at which you were present. It was then that I perceived the interest felt for me by Fatkoura, and formed the wicked scheme of concealing the overwhelming passion which possessed me behind a feigned love."
"How she must suffer, unfortunate girl, to love, and not be loved in return!" said the Kisaki. "I pity her with all my heart. Where is she now?"
"At my castle of Hagui, with my father. I have sent a messenger thither to bring me the latest tidings in regard to events there. My father must think me dead; for you probably do not know that my kingdom has been pillaged, my fortress taken, and my head cut off. But what do I care? I would give my kingdom and the whole world just to see the pretty dimple at the corner of your mouth when you smile."
"Ah!" said the Queen, "I, too, would cheerfully give up my crown, and all the splendors that surround me, to be your wife and live with you. But do not let us think of what is impossible," she added; "let us remember that our hope lies beyond the limits of this world." Saying this, she raised her eyes to heaven.
"Look, friend!" she exclaimed; "see those clouds lit up by rosy reflections; the sun is setting already. Is it possible!"
"Alas!" said the Prince; "then we must return to the haunts of men."
"Do not be too sad," she whispered; "for we shall meet again."
The Prince rose, and went in search of the horses. The one which he had ridden lay dead from exhaustion; the other, being very weary, had halted a few paces away. He led it back to the Queen, and helped her into the saddle; then he cast a last regretful glance at the valley which he was about to leave. With a deep sigh he took the horse by the bridle and led it over the turf.
Just as the Kisaki and the Prince left, the bush which had shaded them rustled, and a man who had been hidden behind it ran off.
Thus it was that Kioto escaped the danger which it had incurred; the battle was over, the fires quenched. The Queen, carried off by guilty hands while the city was given over to terror and dismay, was brought back by the Prince of Nagato to a people drunk with joy. The houses, so tightly closed a few hours before, were thrown wide open; everybody flocked into the streets; the inhabitants chatted with the soldiers; barrels of saki were rolled out and tapped. Men danced and sang; they thought themselves dead, and were alive. There was good cause for rejoicing; shouts went up from every street and square; they spread from mouth to mouth, and soon the whole city repeated: "Glory to the Mikado!" "Death to Hieyas!" "Curses on his race!" "Blessings on General Yama-Kava!" "Praises to the Knights of Heaven!"
"And glory to the Prince of Nagato, to whom we owe the victory!" cried one fellow.
"And who restores our divine Kisaki to us," said another.
The Prince at this moment appeared, leading the horse that bore the Kisaki. The crowd parted, and fell prostrate before her in sudden silence, which ceased abruptly as soon as she had passed.
The Queen had drawn her veil over her face; with one hand she held its light folds upon her breast. The horse, flecked with foam, puffed and panted as he moved. Nagato held the animal by the bridle, and occasionally turned to the Queen, who smiled at him behind her gauzy veil, while every forehead touched the ground.
Thus they reached the fortress of Nisio-Nosiro, and crossed its ramparts. The Knights of Heaven came out to receive the Kisaki. Her women remained at the summer-palace; she was asked whether they should be summoned.
"Why should they?" said she; "shall we not return to the palace?"
No one dared to tell her that the Mikado, his fears still unallayed, refused to quit the fortress, and intended to leave it no more.
The Son of the Gods was indignant; victory had not appeased either his terror or his wrath. He, attacked in his own palace,—not by Mongols, nor by Chinese! His own people—that is, his slaves, those who were not worthy to utter his name—had had the unheard-of audacity to take up arms against him! His sacred person was constrained not only to walk, but to run! The Mikado, whose mere glance should reduce a man to ashes, had fled, pale with fear; the stiff folds of his satin robes were disturbed; he stumbled over the abundance of his drapery as he ran through the streets! What had become of the sacred majesty, the divine prestige, of the descendant of the Gods amidst this fatal adventure?
Go-Mitzou-No, furious, trembling, and astounded, was not assuaged by victory. He ordered a general massacre of all the soldiers who had surrendered.
"They will rise against me again!" he said. "Kill them, to the last man!"
"We will kill them by and by," ventured to reply the Minister of the Right Hand, one of the highest dignitaries of the Dairi; "just now those ten thousand additional troops are most necessary to us."
Then the Mikado cried out: "Let Hieyas be brought before me! Let his eyes be put out, his entrails torn from him; let him be cut into small pieces!"
"By and by," said the Minister of the Left Hand "just now Hieyas is out of our reach."
"Assemble all your warriors, all the princes and ministers," then screamed the Mikado; "I desire to inform them of my will."
No one had any objection to make; but the general surprise was great. The Mikado having a will of his own; manifesting the desire to make a speech! Such a thing had never occurred since Yorimoto, in the reign of Tsoutsi-Mikado, repulsed the Mongol invasion, and received the title of Shogun for that brave deed. Since that time the Shoguns had reigned in the name of the Mikados, who had never dreamed of taking back the sceptre intrusted by them to other hands. Had the true master waked at last from his long torpor? did he intend to grasp the power once more, and govern his kingdom for himself? The ministers looked at each other in vague alarm. Some of them secretly favored Hieyas; others were faithful to the dynasty of the Mikados; but they lacked energy, and dreaded any revolt against those who were masters of the army.
But since the fancy took the Son of the Gods to issue his commands, his ministers could not refuse to obey. The nobles and warriors were speedily assembled in the most spacious hall in the fortress. The Mikado sat cross-legged upon a dais surrounded by a low balustrade; the folds of his robes were arranged about him. Then the lords took their seats on the floor, each holding a long, narrow screen before his face, to oppose some obstacle between his gaze and his sovereign's face.
The Prince of Nagato, with Farou-So-Chan, leader of the Knights of Heaven, Simabara, General Yama-Kava, all the ministers, and all the nobles, were present.
Go-Mitzou-No's angry eye wandered over their heads; he swelled up his cheeks, which were even more pasty than usual; then breathed noisily, as if he wanted to scatter a few grains of dust. At last he found speech,—abrupt, and somewhat plaintive.
"So," he said, "I am no longer master; I am no longer the representative of the Gods! I am besieged, I am outraged; an attempt is made to seize upon my person! I am amazed that you still live. What does all this mean? Is this the way you treat a god? I am the Mikado; that is, the supreme lord. Do you forget that fact? I am here on earth for the good of mankind, when I might be with my family in heaven. If things go on in this way, I will desert you. What! you do not tremble? What are you thinking of? Have you not noticed the signs of anger given by my celestial progenitors? Reflect and remember! But a short time since, a mountain suddenly rose out of the sea opposite the Island of Fatsisio. Is not that terrible? Is not that a mark of the displeasure with which mankind has inspired the Gods? The earth shall shake yet again, and all shall be overthrown. Did there not fall a rain of hairy locks in the suburbs of Osaka only a few days after that mountain rose up out of the water? Was not that a sign of misfortune? Are you blind and deaf? Have you ceased to understand the threats of Heaven? Are you hardened in crime? Do you fear nothing, that you do not shake before the breath of my wrath?"
"We are your faithful servants!" said the Minister of the Right Hand.
"I, Go-Mitzou-No, the one hundred and nineteenth of my race," said the Mikado, "have been insulted; and if the earth is not cleft in twain, it is solely because my feet yet rest upon its surface; it is spared for my sake. Yes, my subjects—mere men—came to the Dairi; they forced the doors; they strove to seize upon me,—to imprison the Son of the Gods! And to escape them I was forced to fly! A Mikado fly from men! I am choked with rage. I will plunge you all into darkness; I will put out the sun; I will turn the sea topsy-turvy; I will dash the earth into a thousand pieces."
"We are your submissive slaves!" said the Minister of the Left Hand.
"If you are my slaves, obey!" screamed the Son of the Gods. "I command that all shall come to an end; the war shall cease, and everything return to its accustomed order."
"Divine Lord! master of our destinies!" said the Prince of Nagato, "will you allow me to speak in your presence?"
"Speak!" said the Mikado.
"The monster whose name is Hieyas," said the Prince, "fears nothing, and insults the gods. But if the command which you have just issued were made known to him in the face of all Japan, he would be obliged to obey, and consent to peace."
"Explain yourself," said Go-Mitzou-No.
"It is with pain that I confess," continued the Prince, "that, in spite of the many defeats he has undergone, Hieyas is still the stronger; his allies increase daily. But they would rapidly diminish, and all would soon abandon him, if he should openly resist an order universally known to emanate from the Mikado."
"No doubt of that," exclaimed the ministers and nobles.
"What shall I do?" asked the Mikado, turning to the Prince of Nagato.
"Sublime master," said the Prince, "my opinion is that you should despatch a herald to proclaim your will in every city and village; at the same time addressing to Fide-Yori and Hieyas a large deputation, charged to inform them that the war is to cease, since such is your pleasure."
"Your advice shall be followed," said the Mikado; "it is good. To reward you for it, I give you the title of Nai-dai-Tsin."
"Sire," cried the Prince, "I am not worthy of such an honor."
"Let the envoys he sent off promptly," said the Mikado. "No more war; let us have peace and repose as of old. I feel exhausted by all these emotions," he added in a lower tone, turning to the prime minister; "it might easily kill me."
They soon separated. On leaving the castle, the Prince of Nagato met a messenger in search of him.
"Whence come you?" asked Iwakura.
"From Nagato."
Then the messenger related all the events that had occurred in that province,—the various battles, the taking of Hagui, and the capture of Fatkoura by the lord of Tosa.
"What!" cried Nagato, "Fatkoura is in the hands of that scoundrel, who beheads princes! I must not delay my vengeance another moment. I will set off at once to deliver her, and make that infamous wretch pay dearly for his crimes and his impertinence."
He then inquired for his little troop, anxious to learn how many the skirmish of the morning had left him. Of the two hundred sailors, eighty had been killed, and fifty wounded; about sixty being in fit condition to resume their march.
Raiden's arm had been pierced by an arrow; but the bone was uninjured. The sailor had had his wound dressed, and declared that it did not pain him at all. He begged the Prince to let him go with him.
"The journey will do me good," said he; "besides, there are not more than sixty of us. That's very few to capture a kingdom; and in so small a number, one man more or less counts for something."
"I need twenty thousand men to march against Tosa," said the Prince; "I shall ask the Shogun to let me have them. So you see that you may well afford yourself a little rest."
"Is it because I have not behaved well, that you want to drive me from you?" asked Raiden.
"No, brave servant," said the Prince, smiling; "come if you will. You can stay at Osaka if your wound troubles you."
"Shall we start at once?" asked the sailor.
"Are you crazy?" cried the Prince. "We have spent a hard night, and a still harder day; you are wounded: and it never occurs to you to take a little rest! I confess that, if you are indefatigable, I, who am by nature very inert, feel quite exhausted."
"If sleep is permitted, I shall sleep with a good will," said Raiden, laughing; "but if you thought best to start off again, I could have held out a little longer."
"Where is Loo?" asked the Prince; "I lost sight of him in the thick of the fight."
"He's asleep in a house on the shore, and so sound asleep that I could pick him up and carry him off without his ever knowing it. That young Samurai earned his sleep well; he snatched a gun from one of our dead comrades, and I hear that he fought like a little devil."
"Is he wounded?"
"Fortunately, he escaped without a scratch."
"Well, go join him, and take a little repose; to-morrow, at noon, we will start."
Next day Nagato went to take leave of the Kisaki. She had returned to the summer-palace, where he found her surrounded by her women.
"You leave the city which owes its triumph to you so soon, and without taking time for rest?" she exclaimed.
"I leave with an aching heart," said the Prince; "but an imperative duty calls me. Before the peace is signed, I must avenge the insult to my name; I must save Fatkoura, my betrothed."
"Is Fatkoura in danger?"
"She is the prisoner of the Prince of Tosa; a messenger brought me the news yesterday."
"Such reasons admit of no reply," said the Queen. "Make haste to punish that villain; and may the God of Battles be with you."
Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke: he was about to run new dangers; to expose his life,—perhaps to die.
"I believe that I am invincible," said Nagato; "an all-powerful goddess protects me."
The Kisaki forced herself to smile. "May you triumph, and return speedily," said she.
The Prince retired. As he left the hall he fixed a last lingering look upon her; a singular feeling of disquiet chilled his blood.
"Every time that I part from her I feel as if I should never see her again," he muttered.
She too gazed at him, a prey to the same anguish; she pressed to her lips the tip of the fan which the Prince had given her.
He tore himself from her presence. That very night he reached Osaka, and went at once to the Shogun.
"Is it you!" joyfully exclaimed Fide-Yori. "I did not hope to see you so soon; your presence is a consolation to me amid the cares that overwhelm me."
"What!" said Iwakura, "when we are victorious! Why are you sad?"
"How can you ask me, friend? True, Yoke-Moura drove the enemy from the village that they held near Osaka; but Harounaga has just been completely routed in his retreat on Yamashiro. Two thirds of the kingdom are in the power of our foe."
"No matter! We won the day at Soumiossi; we cast confusion into the camp of Hieyas; we triumphed at Kioto. And the Son of the Gods, starting for a moment from his torpor, is about to order the two parties to be reconciled."
"Hieyas will refuse."
"He cannot refuse; he cannot revolt openly against the Mikado."
"He who attacked him with such sacrilegious daring!"
"He attacked him to gain possession of his person, and dictate his own terms to him. The Mikado a captive would be a mere nobody; the Mikado free, and grasping the reins of power once more, is omnipotent."
"Hieyas will impose conditions which I cannot accept. It is his interest to continue the war."
"Nevertheless, he will be obliged to obey for the moment; and our most pressing need is a few months of respite."
"To be sure; we could then assemble all our forces. Communication is cut off; the armies of the various princes have not arrived."
"Are Signenari and his twenty thousand men still on the Island of Awadsi?" asked the Prince.
"Still," said the Shogun; "and the young General is desperate at being reduced to inaction."
"I was just going to ask you to issue orders for him to open the campaign."
"What do you mean?"
"I have a personal injury to avenge. I entreat you to lend me that army."
"On whom do you wish to be revenged, friend?" said the Shogun.
"On one of those who betrayed you,—on the Prince of Tosa. He has attacked my kingdom, plundered my fortress, carried off my bride; and deceived by a resemblance into thinking he had captured me, he refused the man the death of a nobleman, and cut off the head of one of my servants."
"Such things can indeed only be washed out in blood," said Fide-Yori. "I will give you an order for Signenari, and I put a war-junk at your disposal. Do not spare that infamous Tosa,—that envious, cowardly traitor, unworthy of the rank he holds."
"I will raze his towers, burn his harvests, and kill him as one would butcher a hog," said the Prince; "only regretting that he has but one life to pay for all his crimes."
"May you succeed!" said the Shogun. "Alas!" he added, "I was so glad to see you; and you come only to go again! What solitude! what an empty void about me! What sorrow! My heart is gnawed by a secret grief which I must not reveal. Some day I will confide it to you; that will solace me."
The Prince raised his eyes to the Shogun's face; he remembered that several times before, a confession had risen to the King's lips, and had been arrested there by a sort of timid modesty. Now, as then, Fide-Yori was embarrassed, and turned away his head.
"What can it be?" thought Nagato.
Then he added aloud: "My vengeance once appeased, I promise to leave you no more."
As he left the Shogun's apartments, the Prince of Nagato met Yodogimi.
"Ah! you are here, illustrious victor!" she said, bitterly; "you come to receive the praises due your noble deeds."
"It is only when falling from your lovely lips that praise is pleasant to my ear," said the Prince, bowing with somewhat exaggerated politeness; "but you favor me with none but rude and scornful words."
"If we are enemies, it is your own fault," said Yodogimi.
"I never wished to offend you; it was my slight merit which wrought my ruin. You declared war against me; but I never accepted the challenge, and I remained your slave."
"A very humble slave! who attracts all the light to himself, allowing no one else to shine in his presence!"
"Am I really so resplendent?" said the Prince. "Against your will, you see, you let fall the praises which you refused me."
"Cease your raillery!" cried Yodogimi. "I seize this opportunity to tell you that while all the world admire and love you, I detest you."
"She cannot forgive me for Harounaga's defeat," muttered the Prince.
Yodogimi withdrew, hurling an angry glance at Nagato. The beautiful Princess once loved Iwakura in secret. The Prince would not see her love; hence the hatred with which she pursued him.
Nagato left the palace; and, a few hours after, set sail for the Island of Awadsi.
The captive of the lord of Tosa found her days long and monotonous. She waited for her avenger, sure of his coming, but impatient at the delay. She was tormented by the love, steadily gaining strength, with which Tosa pursued her. After the execution of the man whom he supposed to be Nagato, he had abstained from visiting her; then, seeing that Fatkoura's grief was not violent, and that she seemed resigned, he took courage and renewed his importunities. Sometimes he was humble, submissive, suppliant; sometimes he raged and stormed; and again, he would try to melt her by his tears. But she was still implacable.
"Your tears," said she, "are like the tiger's, when he fears his victim will escape him."
"You shall never escape me," shouted Tosa.
Fatkoura was severe with Tika; she saw that the maid favored the Prince's love. Tika schemed to make her mistress Princess of Tosa. "The Prince of Nagato is dead!" thought she. "Besides, Fatkoura was quickly consoled for his loss."
"You are free now," she said to her mistress one day; "you can love the Prince of Tosa."
"I shall never love any one but Iwakura," was the young woman's answer.
"Love a dead man! That won't last," thought Tika.
But from that day forth Fatkoura ceased to talk to her; she did not even permit the girl to remain in her presence. Tika wept outside the door; her mistress pretended not to hear her. Yet she missed her maid more than she was willing to confess. This companion of her misfortunes, this confidant of her griefs and her sorrows, was a necessity of her life. Captivity seemed harder to her since she had exiled her from her side; she especially missed the girl's conversation. Finally, she resolved to forgive her, and to confess to her that the Prince still lived. She accordingly summoned her.
The repentant Tika knelt in the centre of the room, hid her face behind her flowing sleeves, and her tears fell fast.
"You will never mention the Prince of Tosa to me again," said Fatkoura.
"Never, mistress," sobbed Tika; "except to curse him."
"Well, I forgive you. Talk to me of my beloved as you used to do."
"Alack! he is dead," said Tika; "I can only mourn with you."
"Don't you think I was speedily consoled?"
Tika, in surprise, looked up at her mistress, who smiled.
"Why, I thought—" she stammered, "I thought he was wrong to submit to defeat in your presence."
"What if I were to tell you that he was never defeated, that he is alive—."
"He triumphs over your heart; he lives in your imagination: that is what you mean."
"No; he still breathes the breath of life."
"Alas, that is impossible! Before our eyes—I shudder to think of it still—his ghastly head fell to the ground."
"That man, whose death we witnessed, was not Iwakura."
"Has grief affected her reason?" thought Tika, scrutinizing her mistress in some alarm.
"You think me mad?" said Fatkoura, "You shall see, when he comes to open the doors of our prison, whether I speak the truth.".
Tika dared not contradict her mistress; she pretended to believe that Nagato lived. "Better this strange hallucination than her former blank despair!" she thought.
They then began to talk of the absent one as had been their wont in the Dairi. They recalled the words that he had spoken, the anecdotes he had told. They tried to imitate the tones of his voice. They reconstructed his every dress, rehearsed, his features, his smile, his attitude. Often they would hold a long discussion over some detail or date, or a simple phrase which he had uttered. In this fashion the hours glided rapidly by.
Every day the Prince of Tosa sent presents to Fatkoura,—flowers, rare birds, marvellous fabrics. Every day Fatkoura let the birds fly, threw the silks and flowers from the window. The Prince never wearied. At noon he would pay a visit to the prisoner, and discourse of his love.
One day, however, he entered Fatkoura's room with a strange expression on his face.
He dismissed Tika with a gesture that suffered no reply; then he stepped towards Fatkoura, and gazed at her fixedly.
"You are firmly resolved to resist me still?" said he, after a pause.
"Now and always; and to hate as much as I despise you."
"That is your final answer? Think again."
"I do not need to think. I hated you from the first moment I saw you; I shall hate you to my death."
"Very well!" cried the Prince, in a terrible voice; "I can force you to become my wife."
"I defy you to do so," said Fatkoura, who never quailed before the Prince's gaze.
"I will conquer you, I swear, as I conquered your lover."
Fatkoura smiled scornfully.
"Yes," resumed the Prince, "you have exhausted my patience. My love made me merciful, timid,—even shy. I implored, I wept, I waited! I left your grief time to heal. Your repeated refusals inflamed my passion; I was enraged; then I humbled myself. But I am tired of this prolonged torture; my prayers are over. No more gentleness, no more tears; you must henceforth be the one to weep and entreat. For the last time, will you love me?"
"Truly you have a singular nature," said Fatkoura. "The vulture does not seek gratitude from the bird he strangles in his clutch; and you insist on love from a woman whose husband you have killed!"
"I know that you can never love me," said Tosa. "Still, you shall say that you do; you shall strive to make me think you do."
"I am curious to learn what means you will employ to make me say such things."
"You will know them soon enough," said the Prince, withdrawing.
From that day a series of sufferings for the prisoner began. At first they separated her from Tika, and locked her into her room; then they stopped up the windows, only letting a few rays of light enter from above. In this way Fatkoura was deprived of seeing the gardens, and of the cool evening air. She was served with food she did not like. Gradually, all utensils for her personal use disappeared. Each day made her situation worse. At last none of the servants would wait on her. She was put into a prison cell, and finally removed to a dungeon, where she had to wait all day for a bowl of cold rice.
"These are the means he takes to win my love!" said Fatkoura, sustained by a hope of rescue.
But one day, abruptly, these stern measures ceased. The young woman was brought back to the rooms which she had at first occupied. Tika was restored to her, and seemed very happy.
"The province of Tosa is invaded," she exclaimed. "An army is at hand; we shall be set free."
"I told you he would come, my lord, my beloved spouse!" said Fatkoura. "He comes to deliver us from our troubles, and to avenge the man who died so bravely in his place."
"I heard no mention of any one but General Signenari, sent by the Shogun."
"Be assured that Iwakura is with him."
"It may be so," said the girl.
"It is so! I shall see him again at last! After so many trials, happiness will return! Is anything known of the fight?"
"The Prince of Tosa set off hurriedly. His soldiers, who did not expect this attack, and were resting on their laurels, were completely beaten. The Shogun's army is but a few leagues away."
"It will soon be beneath these walls," said Fatkoura, "and we shall have to undergo a second siege. But while at Hagui we longed for victory, we now tremble with desire to be vanquished."
Several days passed in feverish expectation. Suddenly, the Prince of Tosa's army, put to rout, returned to the fortress in confusion. The gates were closed, and the siege began. The assailants, leaving the besieged no time for reflection, stormed the place.
A terrible uproar filled the castle. Within, were dismay, continual coming and going, shouts and cries; without, uninterrupted blows. Tika ran in search of news; returned; then started out again. On the third day, the soldiers suddenly rushed to one point: a breach was effected. Cries of discouragement rose on all sides.
"Better surrender."
"We can't hold out long."
"We are lost."
Towards noon the Prince of Tosa entered Fatkoura's room abruptly. She was standing by the window, looking out; her face was radiant with joy. She turned, and saw her enemy gazing at her with folded arms. A sort of instinctive terror took possession of her as she beheld him. He was pale, with a sinister expression. In his right hand he grasped a bloody sword, which dripped upon the floor. He quietly returned it to his belt.
"The battle is lost," he said, with a scowl; "I am conquered."
"The man whom you thought to dishonor is at your gates, and comes to chastise your crimes," said Fatkoura.
"Ah! You know that Nagato is not dead," cried the Prince. "But what does it matter? He is there, it is true; he comes to deliver you: but before he takes you back," he added, in tones of thunder, "before he crosses the crumbling walls of my castle,—mark me well!—you shall be mine."
Fatkoura sprang back, and darted to the farthest corner of the room.
"You may fancy," continued Tosa, "that I did not abandon the field for nothing. The victors are at my heels; there is no time to be lost in idle entreaties." As he said this he sprang towards her.
"Help!" she shrieked in an agonized voice; "Tika, help! Nagato, come to my rescue!"
Tosa laid his hand upon her mouth. "What's the use of shrieking?" said he; "nobody will come. Submit! for you are mine at last; you shall not escape me now."
He encircled her with his arms; but all at once he saw something gleam above him. Fatkoura had snatched a dagger from the Prince's belt.
"You are wrong; I shall escape you yet once again," said she. "My last thought is for you, Iwakura!"
Tosa uttered a loud cry. He saw the dagger buried to the hilt in the young woman's breast; then she drew it out and threw it to the ground.
At that instant the panel which closed the entrance flew in splinters. The Prince of Nagato, sword in hand, rushed into the room and leaped upon the Prince of Tosa.
"Ah, wretch!" he shouted; "you insult your captive and my betrothed! You add this unparalleled crime to all your former misdeeds! But the hour of vengeance is at hand; the earth shall be rid of you!"
Tosa had drawn his sword; he struck it against Nagato's blade. But he shuddered; a superstitious fear froze his blood; he felt that he was about to die.
Iwakura, with irresistible force, drove him back to the other side of the room, and brought him to a stand against the wall. Tosa, with bloodshot eyes, glared wildly at his foe; he could but ill defend himself. Nagato dashed the sword from his hand.
"Now you shall die!" he cried; "I will kill you,—not as a man frees himself of a loyal enemy, but as he would crush a scorpion." And with one fearful blow, he nailed him to the wall by the throat.
Fatkoura had not fallen. She stood leaning against the wall, her hand pressed to her wound. The blood gushed between her fingers. The Prince of Nagato left his enemy writhing in awful agony, and ran to her; he saw the blood flowing in rivers.
"What is it?" he cried.
"I am dying," said Fatkoura.
She sank to the ground. The Prince knelt beside her, and supported her on his knees.
"Is there no one here?" he cried. "Let some one bring a doctor."
"I implore you," said Fatkoura, "do not call; nothing can heal my wound. It was to prevent a stain upon your name that I struck home; I cannot be saved. Let no one enter; let me die by your side, as I could not live there."
"Unfortunate girl! and I have brought you to this!" cried the Prince. "You die for me after a life of suffering,—you, so fair, so young, and so formed for happiness? Ah! why was I placed upon your path?"
"I was happy for a time," said Fatkoura, "very happy; for you seemed to love me. But I have dearly paid for those days of joy. What did I do to you, cruel one, that you should desert me as you did?"
"You guessed the reason, sweet Princess. An all-powerful, invincible love turned me from you; my will refused to obey my reason any longer."
"Yes! how can we struggle against love? I know the power it gains, I, who vainly strove to hate you. Yes! you have felt those sharp pangs, that aimless expectation, those fevered dreams, those hopes that would not die; you have known those sobs which would not be stifled, those tears that burned like drops of fire. A prey to hopeless love, you suffered as I did. Is it not frightful, and can you not pity me?"
"I would give my life to repair the harm I have done you."
"There is no rest by night or day, is there? It seems as if you were at the foot of a precipice lined with steep rocks, which you fain would climb, yet fall back again and again. But I am mad," added Fatkoura; "your suffering was nothing as compared to mine, for you were loved."
The Prince started.
"Yes, she loved you; I know it," resumed Fatkoura, with a faint sigh. "Do you think that the jealous eye of the woman you scorned could fail to read her face I—how its pride died away when she looked at you; how her voice, against her will, would soften when she spoke to you; what happy tremors when you came, what sadness when you went! I watched and noted all; each discovery was like a sword thrust into my heart; rage, hate, and love devoured my soul. No, you never suffered as I did."
"Do not overwhelm me, Fatkoura!" said the Prince. "I did not deserve such love; see how I have rewarded it! You are dying for my sake, and I cannot save you. The horrible grief that rends me at this moment avenges you for much of the suffering that I have caused you."
"I am happy now," said Fatkoura. "I might have died before you came; and I am with you."
"But you shall not die!" cried the Prince. "Am I mad, that I stand here, stunned by horror, instead of bringing you help, or having your wound dressed? You are young; you will recover."
"Why should?" said Fatkoura. "Would you love me then?"
"I would love you then as now, with an infinite affection."
"With a brother's love," Fatkoura whispered, with a bitter smile. "Let me die."
"Alas! that blood which flows so fast, and bears your life with it!" exclaimed the Prince, frantic with grief.
He began to utter frenzied shouts. They were heard. Soldiers and servants rushed in. General Signenari also appeared, still stained with blood from the battle. All stood aside, to let him pass.
"What is the matter, Prince?" he cried.
"A doctor, for Heaven's sake, and at once!" said Nagato. "My betrothed has stabbed herself, to escape the outrages of the infamous Tosa; she is dying."
Fatkoura had fainted.
The palace doctor soon came. He bared the wound, and when he saw it, he looked anything but encouraging. "She did not spare herself," he said.
"Can she be saved?" asked the Prince of Nagato.
The doctor shook his head. "I think not," said he; "the steel went in too deep. If I were to dress the wound, I might stanch the blood; but it would still flow from within, and suffocate her."
"And if you do not stanch the wound?"
"She will die in a very few moments."
The doctor brought the edges of the wound together. As he touched the sensitive spot, Fatkoura never stirred. He shook his head again. "A bad sign," he muttered.
When the dressing was done, he forced between the young woman's lips the neck of a small bottle holding a strengthening cordial, and made her drink it. Fatkoura soon re-opened her eyes; she still lay across Nagato's knees. Tika sobbed at her feet. She cast an uneasy look at those who filled the room; with a slow and painful gesture signed to them to go. Signenari dismissed them, and withdrew; only the doctor and Tika remained.
"You disobeyed me, Iwakura," said the dying girl in a voice which grew ever weaker; "why did you call in help?"
"To save you."
"I am lost. Saved, rather," she added; "what should I do in this world?"
Spasms seized her; she stretched out her arms; the blood choked her. "Air!" she gasped.
Tika flew to open all the windows, and her mistress saw her.
"Good-by, Tika," she said; "you see that he was not defeated, that he was not dead! We shall never talk of him again."
The girl wept, with her face buried in her hands. Fatkoura raised her eyes to the Prince.
"Let me look at you," she said; "it is so long since my eyes have mirrored your image. How handsome you are, my beloved!—You know," she went on, turning to the doctor, "he is my husband. He came to set me free; but Tosa would have outraged me, and I killed myself."
She spoke in a dull, broken voice, growing weaker and weaker. Her eyes opened wide; a waxen pallor over-spread her face.
"You will speak of me to your father, Iwakura," she resumed; "he loved me well! I told him that I should never see the castle again. I was almost happy there. I saw the room where you were born, your baby dresses—Ah! I have loved you fondly!"
She gasped; drops of sweat stood on her brow. She tore the bandage from her wound.
"Iwakura!" she said, "I cannot see you; lean over me—nearer—Ah!" she shrieked, "to go when he is here!"
"She is dying!" cried the agonized Prince.
"She is dead," said the doctor.
Tika uttered a howl of grief. The Prince hid his face in his hands.
"All her sufferings are over now," said the doctor; "she is at rest, and forgets her troubles in the serene tranquillity of the last sleep."
Hieyas consented to close the war; but, as Fide-Yori predicted, his terms were hard.
"I demand," he said, "the execution of one of the three following alternatives: let Fide-Yori give up the fortress, and spend seven years at Yamato; let me receive Yodogimi as hostage; or let the walls of Osaka be razed, and the moats filled up."
The last proposition only was received with favor by the assembled generals in council of war. But Yoke-Moura regarded the destruction of the ramparts as almost sacrilegious.
"This peace will not last long," said he; "and If the war is renewed, what will become of us with our dismantled castle?"
There was a question of letting Yodogimi go.
"My mother! How can you think of such a thing?" cried the Shogun. "Such a hostage once in his hands, we should cease to be aught but the slaves of Hieyas."
"True," exclaimed General Harounaga; "it is impossible."
"Our walls once destroyed, we are left defenceless. War is preferable to such a peace," broke in Yoke-Moura. He would willingly have surrendered Yodogimi; he cared but little for a woman.
"Hieyas specifies," said some one, "that the moats are to be filled up in such a way that children of three can run up and down into them at play."
"Ten thousand laborers are to be set to work on the walls in all haste," said another.
Yoke-Moura sighed.
"We must accept that condition," said the Shogun; "we are forced to do so. At the least suspicion of war, we can build up the walls and dig out the moats again."
"As you insist," said Yoke-Moura, "I will follow your advice; let us demolish the fortress."
"Let General Signenari proceed to Hieyas' camp to exchange treaties of peace; he will represent me worthily; and, I am sure, will acquit himself nobly in this delicate affair."
"I will strive to deserve the trust with which you honor me," said Signenari. "I await your orders to depart."
"You have scarcely sheathed the sword with which you punished the province of Tosa," said the Shogun; "if you require a day's rest, take it."
"I will start this evening," said Signenari. That same day, in fact, the young General, accompanied by a large and splendid escort, set off for the camp of Hieyas.
Hieyas, after the burning of the forest, in which a part of his men perished, had taken up his quarters on the neighboring plain. He was unwilling to abandon a position so near Osaka. When reinforcements reached him, he marched against Harounaga, who still occupied Soumiossi. The General was beaten, and his army routed. Hieyas, however, left only an advance-guard in the conquered territory, and returned to his camp, where he received the decree of peace emanating from the Mikado. He then summoned several of the lords of his council,—Owari, Dathe, Todo, Coroda. All agreed that it was impossible to resist the command of the Son of the Gods; that they must feign to yield, but create some obstacle to the signing of the treaty.
"Let us manage to make Fide-Yori refuse to sign the treaty of peace," said Hieyas. "In that way the wrath of Heaven will fall on his head."
To his great surprise, he was informed of the arrival of an envoy from Osaka; then Fide-Yori accepted the terms he offered.
"Whom has he sent?" asked Hieyas.
"General Signenari."
The young warrior, whose heroism was well known, inspired even his enemies with profound esteem. When he rode through the camp in his military dress, the sovereign princes saluted him; but Signenari paid no heed to their greetings.
"What is the meaning of this haughty bearing?" asked a nobleman.
"He represents the Shogun, Fide-Yori; he cannot return a salute."
He was conducted to the master's tent. Hieyas was seated at the back on a folding-stool; to right and left of him, mats were spread upon the ground. The princes and generals were present. Signenari was invited to take his place with the princes; but he did not seem to understand, and sat down opposite Hieyas.
"That is right," said one of the lords, in a low voice; "that warrior, young as he is, has already acquired the dignity and prudence of a veteran."
Signenari unrolled a paper.
"These are the words of my master, the Shogun Fide-Yori, son of the Shogun Taiko-Sama," said he. And he read the roll, which he held in both hands:—
"I, Fide-Yori, general-in-chief of the armies of the Mikado, in order to put an end to the unjust war declared against me by Hieyas, which lays the kingdom waste, consent to accept one of the alternatives proposed by my opponent for the conclusion of peace: I will destroy the outer wall of the fortress of Osaka, and I will fill up the moats; therefore all hostilities are to cease, and arms to be laid down."I write this in all sincerity, on the fifteenth day of the second moon of the autumn, in the nineteenth year of the Nengo-Kai-Tio, and I sign with my blood."FIDE-YORI."
"I, Fide-Yori, general-in-chief of the armies of the Mikado, in order to put an end to the unjust war declared against me by Hieyas, which lays the kingdom waste, consent to accept one of the alternatives proposed by my opponent for the conclusion of peace: I will destroy the outer wall of the fortress of Osaka, and I will fill up the moats; therefore all hostilities are to cease, and arms to be laid down.
"I write this in all sincerity, on the fifteenth day of the second moon of the autumn, in the nineteenth year of the Nengo-Kai-Tio, and I sign with my blood.
"FIDE-YORI."
"If this be so," said Hieyas, in his weak and trembling voice, "I agree to the peace."
He ordered writing materials to be brought, and dictated to a secretary:—
"I, Minamoto Hieyas, proclaimed Shogun by the predecessor of Go-Mitzou-No, in the name of the Shogun Fide-Tadda, in whose favor I have abdicated, consent to put an end to the war, on condition that Fide-Yori has the walls of the castle of Osaka pulled down and the moats filled up in such fashion that children of three may run up and down into them at play."
"I, Minamoto Hieyas, proclaimed Shogun by the predecessor of Go-Mitzou-No, in the name of the Shogun Fide-Tadda, in whose favor I have abdicated, consent to put an end to the war, on condition that Fide-Yori has the walls of the castle of Osaka pulled down and the moats filled up in such fashion that children of three may run up and down into them at play."
A new brush and a long needle were then handed to Hieyas, with which he was to prick the tip of his finger and sign in his own blood. He pricked himself slightly, and only obtained a small, pale drop; still, he signed, and the treaty was handed to Signenari.
"That will not do," said the General, glancing at the document; "the writing is too pale. Your name is illegible; try again."
"But," said Hieyas, "I am old; I am weak and ill; to me a drop of blood is very precious."
Signenari pretended not to hear. Hieyas, with a sigh, pricked himself afresh, and retraced his signature; then only did the young General give him the treaty signed by Fide-Yori.
Frantic mirth pervaded Osaka. That city of pleasure, of luxury, and of perpetual feasts detested war, political quarrels, mourning,—everything that prevented amusement; diversion being the chief aim of the inhabitants. And now the war was over! The faces lengthened by sorrow and alarm could be exchanged for the laughing, radiant visages of joy. At the first news of peace, the whole town began to dance: sailors on the quays of the Yedogawa, merchants on their doorsteps, and servants in the palace courtyards. Nor were rich citizens, officials, and nobles less delighted, if they were somewhat more reserved in the expression of their joy. The princesses particularly were enchanted; confined in their palaces, separated from their husbands, they seemed to grow old during the war. They waked as from a nightmare. At last they were permitted to be beautiful once more, to smile, and to adorn themselves.
They flew to their great lacquer-chests, scattering odors of musk and sandal-wood as they pulled out the magnificent robes which they had packed away, in order to array themselves in gowns of more sombre hues. The floors were strewn with a picturesque medley of satin, silk and crape of the most delicate tints. But on inspection, regarding these garments as faded and tumbled, they sent for dealers, tailors, and embroidering women.
On the very evening of the promulgation of the peace, the Court announced a water-party, to which all the wealthy inhabitants of Osaka were invited. Excitement ran riot. There was very little time for preparation, or for trimming the boats.
Evening came; the river was lighted up. Thousands of boats, decked with wreaths of lanterns, left the river banks and glided slowly off, some up, some down the stream.
The royal barks soon appeared. Larger and handsomer than the others, they were carpeted with silken fabrics, which hung over and dragged in the water, and lighted-by huge round lanterns of gauze or painted glass, surrounded by the variegated flutter of countless banners. Under the shelter of superb awnings, in the soft light of the lamps, lay graceful women, carelessly stretched upon cushions, amidst the ample folds of their flowing robes. The embroidery of their kirimons glittered, and the great shining pins in their hair gleamed. Nobles sat beside them, uttering a thousand nothings, at which they laughed and threw back their heads. Luminous ripples danced upon the waves.
At the broadest part of the river, where the hills are cut into terraces for a long distance, fire-works were arranged on frames: they were to be sent off on the arrival of the Court. A vast crowd of noisy, merry people were stationed on the terraces to see the festivities. The spectators, some standing, others seated or lying down, carried every one a lantern, and took part in the illumination. Barrels of saki were plentiful; they rolled down the hills; they pitched and tumbled about amid shouts and laughter. Some fell into the water: it was quite a farce to pull them out; some sank; but still everybody was soon intoxicated.
Fide-Yori was present in disguise. With the Prince of Nagato, he occupied a light skiff carrying one faint light. Two men standing in the prow steered. Half lying on their cushions, the friends silently watched the boats as they came and went.
The clear voice of the singers of national legends was heard, accompanied by the biva or the samsin. Bands of music passed, and drowned with their noisy bray the sweet feminine tones. But suddenly the fire-works blazed out, rockets shot through the air, Bengal lights exploded, and let fall a shower of stars. Once begun, the fire-works knew no interruption; the show-pieces were renewed as fast as they vanished in smoke. There was a constant hiss, and crack, and sparkle.
The boat which bore Fide-Yori crossed that in which sat his mother, Yodogimi. The Princess, in a flood of light, appeared in a dazzling toilette. Her boat was entirely draped in gold brocade; the purple satin awning had pearl tassels at each corner. General Harounaga, completely drunk, laughed noisily, lolling on a pile of cushions. The Shogun turned away his head, and the boat passed. Fide-Yori still heard the soldier's shouts of laughter ringing in his ears.
The Prince of Nagato was lost in revery; he saw nothing but the reflection of the lights in the water. He seemed to behold the glow of burning coals, of jewels, of flames and of molten metal. But he tore himself from his dream, thinking that the silence had lasted too long, and raised his eyes to the Shogun. Fide-Yori's face expressed a deep melancholy; however, the young man examined every boat that passed, with an eager look.
Nagato watched him for some moments. "Whom does he seek?" he wondered.
Fide-Yori was evidently looking for some one; he heaved a heavy sigh every time that he was disappointed in his hope.
"Master," said Iwakura at last, "the whole nation rejoices to-day. I thought that sorrow found shelter in my heart alone; but I see that you have kept your share of it."
"I ought indeed to look happy," said Fide-Yori, "but, to you, I show myself as I am. I have an aching heart, my friend, and nothing can allay my pain. The kingdom is at peace, but I am not?"
"What is it, my beloved prince?" said Nagato; "do you not remember that, a few days ago, you promised to confide your grief to me!"
"I have long desired to do so. I know not what strange restraint has prevented me. I felt as if the emotion, at once so bitter and so sweet, which I now experience for the first time, should be told to no one until she who inspires it had heard my tale."
"You are in love, friend; I suspected it. But why should you suffer from your love?"
"The woman I love saved my life. I never saw her but once. Her name is Omiti; that is all I know of her," said the Shogun.
"Poor dear Prince!" cried Nagato; "and you were never able to trace her?"
"Alas, no!"
"Do you know to what class she belongs?"
"She is the daughter of a noble," said Fide-Yori; "her language and her dress told me that. But were she the lowest reprobate, if ever Heaven permit me to find her, she shall be my wife."
"We will seek her together," said Nagato.
"I seek her even now in the midst of this crowd. Every boat that passes, laden with women, quickens the beating of my heart."
"Then you think that she lives in Osaka?" said the Prince of Nagato.
"I hope and think so," said Fide-Yori.
"Then she is certainly at this festival. What young girl would stay at home to-day?"
"So I thought, friend," replied the Shogun; "that is why I am here."
"Come, give me a hasty sketch of her whom you love," said Nagato, "so that I may help you in your search."
"She is full of exquisite grace; small; her eyes are very large; she has a childish air; her smile is a flower wet with dew."
"The portrait is somewhat lacking in detail," said Iwakura, smiling. "Never mind; let us look for her; you are here to correct the errors that I make."
They ordered their men to row rapidly, and to traverse every part of the river furrowed by illuminated boats. Their light skiff flew over the water like a swallow. It went, came, glided from one side of the stream to the opposite shore, never coming in contact with any other. Not one craft escaped the eager scrutiny of the two friends; but their search was in vain.
"Her name is Omiti; you know nothing more?" asked Nagato.
"Nothing; but I fancy that the family to which she belongs is hostile to me. When she told me of the existence of a conspiracy, she refused to give me the names of its authors."
"Ah!" suddenly exclaimed Nagato, "just see that girl over there. Isn't she the very one you are looking for? I never saw such lovely eyes.".
Fide-Yori turned quickly. "Bah!" said he, "you're mocking me; her lips are thick, and her nose is flat."
"So they are," said Nagato. "Forgive me; she looked pretty from a distance."
Their boat reached the point where the river widened, and where fire-works continued to shoot heavenward.
Fide-Yori, in his turn, uttered a loud exclamation. Through a score of blazing rockets he thought he spied Omiti's face; and he was not mistaken. "There, there!" he cried; "follow that boat; hurry!"
The rowers hastily tacked; but they had to make adétour; the great rafts from which the fire-works were sent off blocked the way. When they had passed them, no one knew which boat they were to follow. Fide-Yori had observed nothing but the maiden's face; he saw it no longer. He had noticed neither the number of lanterns nor the colors of the banners. Besides, just at this point there was such a bewildering array of boats of every shape and size, that it was impossible to move.