THE WARRIOR-QUAILS.
In a delightful landscape in the midst of a thick wood stands the
summer residence of the Kisaki, with its pretty roofs of gilded bark.
The thick foliage of the lofty trees seemed loath to make way for those
glittering house-tops, which projected on every side of the palace,
shading a broad veranda, whose floor was covered with carpets, and
strewn with silk and satin cushions worked in gold.
The prospect is not extensive, and the dwelling seems shut in by cool
green vegetation. Emerald reeds flaunt their slender leaves like
banners on the breeze, uprearing silvery, flaky plumes. Orange-bushes
bloom beside tall bamboos, and mingle their sweet-scented flowers with
the red blossoms of the wild cherry. Farther away, large camelias
climb the trees; at their feet big red leaves, covered with light
down, unfold beside tall heaths, so delicate, so airy, that they look
like tufts of green feathers. Above this first plane of verdure,
palms, bananas, oaks, and cedars interlace their branches and form an
inextricable network, through which the light filters, tinged with a
thousand varying hues.
A brook glides slowly over a bed of thick moss, and its crystal stream
is slightly troubled by a water-hen of lovely plumage, who just ruffles
it with her wings as she chases a dragon-fly, whose slim body flashes
forth metallic reflections.
But more brilliant and more splendid than the flowers, the velvety
moss, or the silvery shadows on the stream, are the dresses of the
women who sit on the veranda.
The Kisaki, surrounded by her favorite ladies and a few young lords,
the noblest of the Court, is witnessing a quail-fight.
On account of the heat, the sovereign wears a light robe of
pigeon-colored silk gauze,--a shade of green which she alone has the
right to use. In place of the three plates of gold which form her
crown, she has arranged in her hair three daisies with silver leaves.
Over her left ear, from the head of a long pin buried in her hair,
hangs, at the end of a slender gold chain, a huge pearl of rare beauty
and perfect shape.
Two young boys, in costumes differing only in color, crouch upon their
heels, face to face, watching the contest between the pretty birds,
ready to pick up the dead and bring forward fresh combatants.
"How little chance of winning I have," said a lord with an intellectual
cast of countenance, "I, who dared to bet against my Queen!"
"You are the only one who was so bold, Simabara," said the Kisaki; "but
if you win, I am sure that every one will bet against me in the next
fight."
"He is likely to triumph," said the Prince of Tsusima, husband of the
beautiful Iza-Farou-No-Kami.
"What!" cried the Kisaki, "have I so nearly lost?"
"See, your champion weakens!"
"Courage! one more effort! courage, little warrior!" said the Queen.
The quails, with bristling feathers and neck outstretched, paused for a
moment, gazing motionless, each at the other, then sprang to the attack
again; one of them fell.
"Ah! all is over," cried the Queen, rising to her feet; "the bird is
dead! Simabara has won."
Young girls now handed about sweetmeats and delicacies of various
kinds, with tea gathered on the neighboring mountains; and the sports
ceased for a time.
Then a page approached the Kisaki, and told her that a messenger had
been waiting for some moments with news from the palace.
"Let him enter," said the sovereign.
The messenger advanced, and prostrated himself.
"Speak," said the Kisaki.
"Light of the World!" said the man, "the embassy from the Shogun has
arrived."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Kisaki. "And who are the princes that compose it?"
"The Princes of Nagato, Satsuma, Ouesougi, and Satake."
"It is well!" said the Kisaki, dismissing the messenger by a sign.
"These gentlemen will weary of waiting for an audience," she continued,
addressing the princes grouped about her. "The Mikado, my divine
master, is at the summer-palace with all his wives and his Court;
the Dairi is almost deserted. Tsusima, go, seek out these princes,
and conduct them hither; they shall share our sports. Let pavilions
be prepared for them within the limits of the residence," she added,
turning to her women.
Her orders were transmitted to the interior of the house, and the
Prince of Tsusima, bowing profoundly, withdrew.
The Dairi was not more than half-an-hour's journey away from the
summer-palace, so that an hour was all-sufficient time to go and come.
"Prepare a fresh combat," said Kisaki. The fowlers cried aloud the
names of the combatants:
"Gold Spur!"
"Rival of Lightning!"
"Gold Spur is a stranger," said the sovereign. "I will bet on Rival
of Lightning; I consider him matchless: he killed Coral Beak, who had
slaughtered untold adversaries."
All the spectators followed the Queen's example.
"If that is so," she cried, laughing, "I will bet alone against you
all; I will join myself to the fortunes of Gold Spur."
The struggle began. Rival of Lightning rushed forward with the speed
which had won him his name. Usually, he disabled his foe at the
first onslaught; but now he fell back, leaving a few feathers in his
antagonist's beak, the latter being untouched.
"Well done! well done!" was the shout on every side. "Gold Spur begins
wonderfully well!"
Some of the noblemen squatted on their heels, to follow the fight more
closely.
The birds closed for the second time. But nothing was to be seen except
a confused heap of quivering plumes; then Rival of Lightning fell with
bleeding head, and Gold Spur proudly placed one foot upon the body of
his conquered enemy.
"Victory!" cried the Kisaki, clapping her small milk-white hands. "Gold
Spur is the monarch of the day; to him belongs the prize collar."
One of the princesses fetched a black lacquer box containing a gold
ring set with rubies and coral, from which hung a tiny crystal bell.
The victor was brought to the Queen, who, taking the ring in two
fingers, put it round the bird's neck.
Other fights followed; but the Kisaki, strangely absent-minded, paid
little heed to them. She listened to the myriad noises of the forest,
and seemed annoyed by the babbling of the brook, which prevented her
hearing distinctly a very faint and far-off sound. It might have been
the slight clash of swords thrust into a noble's girdle, the crunching
of the sand on one of the paths beneath the tread of approaching
guests, or the sudden snap of a fan rapidly opened and shut.
An insect, a passing bird, drowned this almost imperceptible sound.
However it soon grew louder; everybody heard it. Cheerful voices were
mingled with it.
"Here come the ambassadors!" said Simabara.
Soon after, they heard the clang of arms, as the Princes laid off their
weapons before appearing in the sovereign's presence.
Tsusima came forward from the interior of the house and announced the
noble envoys, who appeared in their turn, and prostrated themselves
before the Kisaki.
"Rise!" said the young woman hastily, "and learn the laws which govern
our little Court of Flowers. Ceremonious etiquette is banished from
it; I am regarded as an elder sister. Every one is free and at ease,
and has no duty, but to devise fresh diversions. The watchword here is
mirth."
The lords rose; they were soon surrounded, and questioned in regard to
recent events at Osaka. The Kisaki cast a rapid glance at the Prince of
Nagato. She was struck by the look of weakness imprinted upon the young
man's whole frame; but she surprised in his eyes a strange gleam of
pride and joy.
"He has read the verses that I gave him," she thought. "How foolish I
was to write what I did!"
Still, she signed to him to approach.
"Rash man!" she cried, "why did you undertake a journey when you are
still so weak and ill?"
"You deigned to protect my life, divine Queen," said the Prince; "could
I longer delay coming to testify my humble gratitude?"
"It is true that my foresight saved you from death, but it did not
succeed in preserving you from frightful wounds," said the Queen. "It
seems as if all your blood had flowed from your veins; you are as pale
as these jasmine-flowers."
She showed him a blossoming spray which she held in her hand.
"You must have suffered greatly," she added.
"Ah! dare I confess to you," cried Nagato, "that to me physical
suffering is a comfort? There is another and far more painful
wound,--that which is killing me, which leaves me no rest or peace."
"What!" said the Kisaki, disguising her profound emotion with a smile,
"is this the way that you obey my wishes? Did you not hear me say that
gayety reigns here? Speak no more of death or sorrow; let your soul
unbend beneath the balmy breath of this beautiful and invigorating
scene. You shall pass some days here; you shall see what a rural
and delightful life we lead in this retreat. We rival in simplicity
our ancestors, the shepherds, who first pitched their tents on this
soil. Iza-Farou," she continued, addressing the Princess, who passed
before the house just then, "I should like to hear a story; call our
companions, and put an end to their political debates."
Soon all the privileged people admitted to the intimacy of the Queen
were assembled. They went into the outer hall of the house. The Kisaki
ascended a low platform, covered with carpets and cushions, and half
reclined upon them. The women took their places on her left, the men on
her right; and servants at once placed upon the ground, before each, a
small gold plate containing dainties and warm drinks.
Through all the open panels the scented air of the woods entered the
spacious room, which was filled with a greenish light, reflected
from the neighboring trees. The walls were wonderfully decorated;
fabulous animals, the bird Foo, the unicorn, and the sacred tortoise
stood out in bold relief from a background of azure, gold, or purple,
and a screen of _cloisonné_ enamel, in tints of turquoise and brown,
described its zigzags behind the dais. There was no furniture, nothing
but thick mats, cushions, and satin hangings ornamented with birds,
embroidered in circles of gold.
"I declare to you at the outset," said the Kisaki, "that I shall
not utter a word. I am seized with an overwhelming laziness and
indifference. Besides, I want to hear stories, and not to tell them."
Loud protests were made against this announcement.
"I am not to be moved," said the Queen, laughing; "you shall not even
persuade me to pronounce a few words of flattery when your stories are
done."
"Never mind!" cried Simabara; "I will tell the story of the wolf
changed into a young girl."
"Do! do!" exclaimed the women; "we like the title."
"An old wolf--"
"Oh! he was old, was he?" said a young princess, with a look of
contempt.
"You know very well that to give shelter to a human soul, an animal
must be old."
"True! true!" cried the listeners; "go on!"
"An old wolf," said Simabara, "lived in a cave near a much travelled
road. This wolf had an insatiable appetite. He therefore frequently
left his cavern, went to the side of the road, and gobbled up a
passer-by. But this mode of procedure was not at all to the taste
of the travellers, and they ceased to frequent that road; so that
little by little it became quite deserted. The wolf meditated long and
deeply, seeking a way to put an end to this state of things. Suddenly
he disappeared, and every one supposed he was dead. Some bold people
ventured along the road, and there they saw a lovely young girl, who
smiled bewitchingly upon them.
"'Will you follow me, and rest in a cool, delightful spot,' she said.
"None thought of refusing; but no sooner had they left the road,
than the young girl returned to her former shape of an old wolf, and
devoured the travellers; then she resumed her fair form and returned to
the roadside. From that day forth not a traveller has escaped the jaws
of the wolf."
The princes loudly applauded this story; but the women protested.
"That is to say that we are dangerous traps hidden beneath flowers,"
said they.
"The flowers are so beautiful that we shall never see the trap," said
the Prince of Tsusima, with a laugh.
"Come!" said the Queen; "Simabara shall drink two cups of saki, for
hurting the feelings of the women."
Simabara merrily drained the cups.
"Formerly," said Princess Iza-Farou, flashing a mischievous glance at
Simabara, "heroes were plenty. There were Asahina, who could seize in
each hand a warrior in full armor and hurl him to a great distance;
Tametomo, with his terrible bow; Yatsitsone, whose only shield was his
open fan; and how many more! Their lofty deeds were the constant theme
of conversation. It was said, among other things, that on one occasion
Sousige, the unrivalled cavalier, returning from a journey, saw several
of his friends crouching round a chess-board; he spurred his horse
over, their heads, and the animal stood motionless on his hind feet in
the centre of the board. The players, struck dumb, thought that the
knight had dropped from heaven. Nowadays I hear nothing to compare with
that."
"Good! good!" exclaimed Simabara; "you would infer that none of us are
capable of such a remarkable feat of horsemanship, and that the age of
heroes is passed."
"That is exactly the idea that I wished to convey," said Iza-Farou,
bursting into laughter; "was I not bound to reply to your impudent
wolf?"
"She had a right to avenge us," said the Kisaki; "she shall not be
punished."
"Flower-of-the-Reed knows a story, but she won't tell it!" cried a
princess, who had been whispering with her neighbor.
Flower-of-the-Reed hid her face behind the loose sleeve of her robe.
She was a very young girl, and somewhat shy.
"Come, speak!" said the Kisaki, "and don't be alarmed; we have nothing
in common with Simabara's wolf."
"Very well! This is my story," said Flower-of-the-Reed, suddenly
reassured. "In the Island of Yezo lived a young man and a maiden who
loved each other tenderly. They had been betrothed from their cradles,
and had never been parted. The girl was fifteen years old, and the
young man eighteen. The date of their marriage was soon to be fixed.
Unhappily the son of a rich man fell in love with the girl, and asked
her father for her hand; and he, heedless of his former promises, gave
it to him. The young couple pleaded in vain; the father was firm. Then
the girl went to her lover in despair.
"'Listen!' said she; 'as we must be parted in this world, death shall
unite us. Let us go to the tomb of your ancestors, and there kill
ourselves.'
"They did as she proposed; they lay down upon the tomb and stabbed
themselves. But the rejected lover had followed them. When he no longer
heard their voices, he approached and saw them stretched out side by
side, motionless, hand in hand.
"While he bent over them, two white butterflies rose from the tomb and
flew gayly upwards, fluttering their wings.
"'Ah!' angrily cried the jealous survivor, 'it is they! They have
escaped me; they escape into glory; they are happy! But I will follow
them, even into heaven!'
"So saying, he seized the dagger which lay upon the tomb, and in his
turn struck himself to the heart.
"Then a third butterfly rose into the air. But the others were far
away; he could never reach them.
"Even now, to this very day, if you look among the flowers, when spring
comes back to us, you will see the two winged lovers pass, side by
side. Look again; you will soon see the jealous one, who follows, but
can never overtake them."
"Indeed," said Iza-Farou, "butterflies are always grouped in that way:
two flutter about together, and a third follows them at a distance."
"I have noticed that peculiarity too, without knowing the reason for
it," said the Kisaki. "The story is pretty; I never heard it before."
"The Prince of Satsuma must tell us something," said Flower-of-the-Reed.
"I!" exclaimed the old man in some alarm; "but I don't know any
stories."
"Yes! yes! you know plenty," exclaimed the women; "you must tell us
one."
"Then I will relate an adventure which happened not long since to the
Prince of Figo's cook."
This announcement provoked a general outburst of merriment.
"You will see," said Satsuma, "you will see that this cook had a good
deal of wit. In the first place, he is very skilful at his trade, which
is not a thing to be despised; and moreover he pays extreme attention
to the minutest details of his work. A few days ago, however, at a
feast to which I went, the servants brought in a bowl full of rice and
uncovered it before the Lord of Figo. What was the latter's surprise to
see in the middle of the snowy rice a black insect, quite motionless,
because it was cooked! The Prince turned white with rage. He summoned
the cook; and seizing the ignoble insect with the tips of his ivory
chopsticks, he presented it to the fellow with a terrible look. There
was nothing left for the unfortunate servant but to rip himself up as
speedily as possible. But it seemed that that operation was not at all
to his liking; for, approaching his master with every sign of the most
lively joy, he took the insect and ate it, pretending to think that
the Prince did him the honor to offer him a taste of the repast. The
guests began to laugh at this display of quick wits. The Prince of Figo
himself could not help smiling, and the cook was rescued from death."
"Good! good!" cried all the listeners; "there's a story which cannot
offend any one."
"It is Nagato's turn," said Tsusima, "he must know delightful stories."
Nagato started as if aroused from a dream; he had heard nothing,
noticed nothing, absorbed as he was in the ecstatic contemplation of
the goddess whom he adored.
"You want a story?" he asked, looking at the company as if he saw them
for the first time.
He reflected for a few seconds.
"Very well; you shall have one," he said.
"There was once a tiny pond, born upon a day of storm and tempest. It
was formed upon a mossy bed, and violets and pretty flowering-shrubs
surrounded it and bent over it. The clouds, its kindred, had not yet
quite dispersed, when the birds came, dipping the tips of their wings
in its waters, and delighting it with their songs. It was happy, and
rejoiced in life, finding it good. But soon the clouds vanished, and
something marvellously dazzling appeared high overhead. The water
sparkled; diamond-like ripples traversed its surface; it was changed to
a magnificent casket of jewels. But the clouds came back, the vision
disappeared. What sorrow then, and what regrets! The pond found no more
pleasure in the songs of the birds; he despised the reflections cast
upon his bosom by the flowers on his shores; everything looked dark and
ugly to him. At last the sky cleared again, and this time for a long
period. The bright wonder reappeared; the pond was again penetrated
with warmth, splendor, and joy; but he felt that he was dying beneath
those golden darts, which grew more and more fiery. Yet if a light
branch threw its shadow over him, if a fine mist sprang up and served
him as a shield, how he cursed them for delaying his delicious
annihilation for one moment! The third day he had not one drop of water
left: the pond had been swallowed by the sun."
This tale plunged the princesses in sweet reveries. The men declared
that Nagato had invented a new form of story-telling, and that his
improvisation ought to be put into poetry.
The Queen, who understood that the Prince spoke for her ear alone,
almost involuntarily threw him a look full of melancholy pleasure.
The day neared its close. Two princesses now knelt before the Kisaki,
to take her orders for the next day's diversions.
"To-morrow," said she, after a few moments' consideration, "we will
have a rustic breakfast and a poetic contest in the western orchard."
The party soon broke up, and the embassy was conducted to the
pavilions, embowered in shrubs and flowers, which had been assigned to
it.