LIFE for a young wife in the house of her parents-in-law in Japan is
seldom a bed of roses. Of the entire family she is, up to a certain
period, the most insignificant. Under the most galling circumstances the
Japanese bride remains meek, dutiful, patient. She dare not even look
too fondly for comfort from her husband, lest she arouse the jealousy of
the august lady, for no woman can, with equanimity, endure the thought
that her adored son prefers another to herself.
Moonlight’s lot was harder than that of most brides, for, besides the
menial tasks assigned her, she was obliged to endure the veiled,
insulting references to her former caste, and to carry always with her
the knowledge that she was not alone despised but hated by her husband’s
people.
There was one compensation, however. Far from decreasing, the love of
the young Lord Gonji for his beautiful wife grew ever stronger. It was
impossible, moreover, for him to conceal the state of his heart from the
lynx-eyed, passionately jealous mother, with the consequence that she
let no opportunity escape her of making her daughter’s life a burden. In
this venomous task she was ably assisted by Ohano, who was still a
member of the household.
In contrast to the treatment accorded the young wife, Ohano was
cherished and made the constant companion and confidante of Lady Saito.
Always healthy, plump, and active, she presented at this time a striking
contrast to the wistful-eyed and fragile Moonlight, who looked as if a
breath might blow her away. She was given to dreaming and star-gazing, a
girl devoted to poetry and music. In the geisha-house her fresh, young
laughter had mingled at all times with the other joyous sounds. Now,
however, she seemed under some spell. She was a different creature, one
who even moved uncertainly, starting painfully at the slightest motion
and flushing and paling whenever addressed.
She had set herself the task of studying “The Greater Learning for
Women,” and now, painfully, from day to day, she, who had once gaily
ordered all about her, tried to obey meekly the strict rules laid down
for her sex by Confucius.
No matter how humiliating the task set her, how harshly, and even
cruelly, the tongue of the mother-in-law lashed her, she made no murmur
of complaint. But daily she visited the Temple. While it seemed as if
her back must break from weariness, she would remain upon her knees for
hours at the shrine, murmuring ever one insistent, passionate prayer to
the gods.
The first year passed away, and there was no change in the household of
the Saitos.
A letter came to the young wife from the wife of Matsuda, entreating her
former favorite to come to her for a little visit. The letter was laid
meekly before the mother-in-law, and, to the girl’s surprise, permission
was granted. Her husband took her to her former home and left her there
among her friends.
They had both expected that her health would be improved by the change,
by the reunion with old friends and comrades, the brightness and cheer
of the House of Pleasure, and the throng of admiring maidens and geishas
about her. But, instead, the place had a depressing effect upon the
former geisha. The lights, the constant strumming of drum and samisen,
the singing, the continuous dancing and chatting, bewildered her, and
before the week was over she returned to her husband’s home. Hardly,
however, had she entered the Saito house when a new fear seized her.
Something in the silent, speculating gaze of her mother-in-law smote her
heart with terror. Of what was the older woman thinking, she wondered,
and what had put that curious smile of satisfied triumph upon the face
of Ohano?
Troubled, she begged her husband to tell her exactly of what they had
talked in her absence. He reassured her, told her she but imagined a
change; but he held her so closely, so savagely to his breast that she
was surer than ever that something menaced their happiness.
The following morning she trembled and turned very pale at a sneering
hint conveyed by the mother-in-law.
The fact that she was childless at the end of the first year, then, had
become a subject of remark in the family!
The Lady Saito remarked sarcastically that among certain classes it was
customary for childless women to drink of the Kiyomidzu Temple springs.
They were said to contain miraculous qualities by which one might attain
to motherhood.
Moonlight said nothing, but unconsciously her glance stole to her
husband. He had grown uncomfortably red, and she saw his scowling face
turned upon his mother.
Later, very timidly, she begged his permission to drink of the springs.
He was opposed to it, saying it was a superstition of the ignorant; his
mother but jested. She pleaded so insistently, and seemed to take the
matter so deeply to heart, that at last he consented.
And so, with this last frantic hope, the geisha whose flashing beauty
and talents had made her a queen in the most exacting of the tea-houses
of Kioto now joined this melancholy band of childless women who thus
desperately seek to please the gods by drinking of their favored waters.
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