There is no more Ichi-dai-me Kimiko: she is only a remembrance.
Kimika was quite young when she called that Kimiko her
professional sister.
"An exceedingly wonderful girl," is what Kimika says of Kimiko.
To win any renown in her profession, a geisha must be pretty or
very clever; and the famous ones are usually both,--having been
selected at a very early age by their trainers according to the
promise of such qualities, even the commoner class of
singing-girls must have some charm in their best years,--if only
that _beaute du diable_ which inspired the Japanese proverb that
even a devil is pretty at eighteen(1). But Kimiko was much more
than pretty. She was according to the Japanese ideal of beauty;
and that standard is not reached by one woman in a hundred
thousand. Also she was more than clever: she was accomplished.
She composed very dainty poems,--could arrange flowers
exquisitely, perform tea-ceremonies faultlessly, embroider, make
silk mosaic: in short, she was genteel. And her first public
appearance made a flutter in the fast world of Kyoto. It was
evident that she could make almost any conquest she pleased, and
that fortune was before her.
But it soon became evident, also, that she had been perfectly
trained for her profession. She had been taught how to conduct
herself under almost any possible circumstances; for what she
could not have known Kimika knew everything about: the power of
beauty, and the weakness of passion; the craft of promises and
the worth of indifference; and all the folly and evil in the
hearts of men. So Kimiko made few mistakes and shed few tears. By
and by she proved to be, as Kimika wished,--slightly dangerous.
So a lamp is to night-fliers: otherwise some of them would put it
out. The duty of the lamp is to make pleasant things visible: it
has no malice. Kimiko had no malice, and was not too dangerous.
Anxious parents discovered that she did not want to enter into
respectable families, nor even to lend herself to any serious
romances. But she was not particularly merciful to that class of
youths who sign documents with their own blood, and ask a
dancing-girl to cut off the extreme end of the little finger of
her left hand as a pledge of eternal affection. She was
mischievous enough with them to cure them of their folly. Some
rich folks who offered her lands and houses on condition of
owning her, body and soul, found her less merciful. One proved
generous enough to purchase her freedom unconditionally, at a
price which made Kimika a rich woman; and Kimiko was
grateful,--but she remained a geisha. She managed her rebuffs
with too much tact to excite hate, and knew how to heal despairs
in most cases. There were exceptions, of course. One old man, who
thought life not worth living unless he could get Kimiko all to
himself, invited her to a banquet one evening, and asked her to
drink wine with him. But Kimika, accustomed to read faces, deftly
substituted tea (which has precisely the same color) for Kimiko's
wine, and so instinctively saved the girl's precious life,--for
only ten minutes later the soul of the silly host was on its way
to the Meido alone, and doubtless greatly disappointed.... After
that night Kimika watched over Kimiko as a wild cat guards her
kitten.
The kitten became a fashionable mania, a craze,--a delirium,--one
of the great sights and sensations of the period. There is a
foreign prince who remembers her name: he sent her a gift of
diamonds which she never wore. Other presents in multitude she
received from all who could afford the luxury of pleasing her;
and to be in her good graces, even for a day, was the ambition of
the "gilded youth." Nevertheless she allowed no one to imagine
himself a special favorite, and refused to make any contracts for
perpetual affection. To any protests on the subject she answered
that she knew her place. Even respectable women spoke not
unkindly of her,--because her name never figured in any story of
family unhappiness. She really kept her place. Time seemed to
make her more charming. Other geisha grew into fame, but no one
was even classed with her. Some manufacturers secured the sole
right to use her photograph for a label; and that label made a
fortune for the firm.
But one day the startling news was abroad that Kimiko had at last
shown a very soft heart. She had actually said good-by to Kimika,
and had gone away with somebody able to give her all the pretty
dresses she could wish for,--somebody eager to give her social
position also, and to silence gossip about her naughty
past,--somebody willing to die for her ten times over, and
already half-dead for love of her. Kimika said that a fool had
tried to kill himself because of Kimiko, and that Kimiko had
taken pity on him, and nursed him back to foolishness. Taiko
Hideyoshi had said that there were only two things in this world
which he feared,--a fool and a dark night. Kimika had always been
afraid of a fool; and a fool had taken Kimiko away. And she
added, with not unselfish tears, that Kimiko would never come
back to her: it was a case of love on both sides for the time of
several existences.
Nevertheless, Kimika was only half right. She was very shrewd
indeed; but she had never been able to see into certain private
chambers in the soul of Kimiko. If she could have seen, she would
have screamed for astonishment.
(1) Oni mo jiuhachi, azami no hana. There is a similar saying of
a dragon: ja mo hatachi ("even a dragon at twenty").