MASAGO TAKES THE REINS.
Now it came to pass that after the mental torture she had endured, the
soul-racking perplexities, the days of prayer and nights of vigil, the
strong frame of the Abbess gave way under her burthen. She was deeply
thankful for the god's decision,--that her prayers had been heard and
answered. But her body was worn out--the lamp was burning low, and she
was compelled to remain in her chamber, wrapped in many quilts, with
Mine, hapless victim of unrequited love, in anxious attendance on her.
That unfortunate maiden had never recovered the effect of the dreadful
day,--the massacre of her dear ones,--her parents' departure,
unforgiving. She moved about her sacred duties like a phantom, with
remorse gnawing at her vitals. No need now to keep watch over her lest
she should again fling herself into the reluctant arms of the too
fascinating young General. He was no more to her seared heart than any
other man, for it had lost all sense of feeling. It was scorched out
of life on the day of the massacre, and she bore only its ashes in her
breast.
Masago had sunk into that deep sleep which is the greatest boon to
unhappy mortality, and Mine, bending over the hibachi, was stirring
the charcoal with a rod, immersed in sad reflection, when there
entered a certain bonze who enjoyed reputation as a doctor. He was a
learned and a holy man, who dwelt in a monastery on the mountain,--was
wise of counsel, and learned in the use of simples.
Hearing by chance that the venerated Abbess of Tsu was lying sick, he
took his bundle, his lacquered medicine-box, and his staff; put on his
tall clogs, and great mushroom priestly hat, and hied towards the
convent. Sleep, he observed, after a brief survey, was a better
anodyne than simples, and he would therefore await the waking. Warming
his fingers: over the glow he chatted with Mine in undertones,
exchanged the gossip of Tsu for the last reports from Ki[^y]oto,
inquired of what new atrocity my lord the Daimio had been guilty. Oh,
yes; he was aware that my lord was away,--summoned to the capital; and
added, with mysterious head-shakings, that a surprise was preparing
for his return. "_You_ should be pleased to hear of it," went on the
good garrulous old gentleman, "after all that your family have
suffered at his hands--'tis only fitting retribution;" and then,
chattering in whispers, he proceeded to tell of soldiers' shadowy
cohorts, who by night had marched past the monastery. "They are
massing troops in all the defiles," he whispered. "Your father's
anathema has taken effect. The race of the Hojos is run."
The bonze was so intent upon his tale, and so long-winded in the
telling of it, that he, as well as his listener, forgot all about the
patient. Though deep wrapt in slumber, she moved now and again
uneasily, tossing from off a surcharged bosom the multitude of futons
that covered it. Then gradually the sleep-goddess relaxed her embrace,
folded her arms less closely, and she of dreams spread forth the
shadow of her pinions. The Abbess dreamed a dreadful dream, offspring
of trouble and of fever. She thought that her own lord was alive
again,--that, covered with crimson stains streaming from many a wound,
he stood over dead Tomoye. Why was Tomoye dead? In sober truth of
history past and gone, it was she who had stood over him. There he
stood, however, reeling from loss of blood, his favourite katana
hacked and notched from the battle. Then there appeared the boy
No-Kami, also gashed and wounded. To her, the sleeper, turned her
revered lord, stretching forth imploring hands. "Save _him_," he
hoarsely gasped. "My time and hers is come, and it is well; but he is
on the threshold of his life!" She, the dreamer, could not save him,
for she was bound herself with cords, the which perceiving, her lord
looked down reproachfully, and died; and then from out a crystal brook
there rose a silver form that clasped the boy, and his wounds
closed,--a slim shimmering form, daughter of the moon, which, shaping
itself out of argent vapour, became O'Tei the chatelaine.
Bedewed with sweat the old woman awoke, and for a space lay panting.
What awful vision was this? All good Buddhists know that when we are
asleep the soul goes forth upon its errands. If we waken a person too
suddenly he will die, because the wanderer cannot return with needful
quickness to his tenement. When the soul is merely out at play the
dream is of no importance, and its pictures are rapidly effaced; but
when the truant is on serious duty bent, the vision remains distinct,
and it behoves us to accept its lesson. Waking, the portrayal of O'Tei
closing No-Kami's wounds was as distinct as if the two were standing
there before her; also the reproachful gaze of her dear lord ere he
gave up his spirit. The gods were indeed good to speak so plainly to
their handmaid. It was the honour of her dear lord's name that she
desired saved at any cost, wishing for his son no ill. The geisha was
to die, No-Kami to repent, and O'Tei was somehow to dissect the
tangle. Masago found herself to-day more weak than usual, and much
unhinged. Perchance her time was near. It behoved her to see the
chatelaine, to reason with her while yet her voice was strong, her
brain still clear. Then there rose upon her dimmed senses a sound of
whispering, and she distinctly heard some one say, "The race of the
Hojos is run."
The long moan which burst from her breast recalled the attention of
the watchers. The bonze was full of solicitude,--grieved to perceive
how fluttering was the patient's pulse,--vastly busy in the
preparation of remedies. He could have bitten his tongue through for
his imprudence. How could he have been such a fool as to forget that
the patient was herself a Hojo, and that fevered sleep is treacherous?
He chattered and chirruped to and fro, shot forth his most brilliant
sallies, showed his teeth as he twanged bolts of merry satire at
that unreceptive target Mine. The eyes of the old woman--smileless
now--knit in intense inquiry, never left his face, while with feeble
persistence she repeated the question,--"How are the Hojos doomed?"
Having committed one egregious error, he was not going to be guilty of
another. Regardless of the severe course of penance which followed
lying, he boldly averred that he had never mentioned Hojo at all, or
the race,--that he was talking about the Daimio of Osaka, who was
hovering on the verge of the grave,--that under no circumstances
whatever would he have breathed a syllable about the Hojos in the
presence of the late lord's wife. And twittering thus, he at length
retired, with good wishes for the patient's recovery, glad that by
wonderful presence of mind he had lulled the Abbess's suspicions.
But Masago knew better than to be hoodwinked by the plausible gabble
of a blundering bonze. Out of delicacy she would refrain from
cross-questioning Mine. Well, the warning was twofold. The Hojo was in
imminent peril of some kind, from which apparently he was to be
rescued by his wife.
For many hours she lay staring upwards in deep thought. The wintry
light was quickly waning. Who might tell how near the peril was? Her
own strength was ebbing rapidly. She must see the chatelaine at once.
The brief twilight of Japan was darkening over the bleak landscape
like a sable veil, when a breathless messenger arrived at the
drawbridge of the fortress, demanding an interview with the lady.
"With the lady!" jeered the soldier, who had been so long upon his
watch as to be glad to chat with any one. "She has other things to do
just now, our lady, than listen to beggars from the town. Was
ever such a lady--so restless, so domineering, so devoted to
pleasure--always seeking new excitement in the dreary absence of my
lord? The moon rises late, and will be full to-night, and what must
she do, dost think, heedless of her delicate situation, but go to the
tea-house by the river, to gaze at the light upon the snow? 'Tis a
lovely sight, no doubt, dear to the eyes of our people, be they high
or low,--the green glimmer on the water, the black banks of reeds, and
white expanse beyond; but plaguey cold. Of course there will be supper
when she returns, and singing and wassail and jollity, warming to the
cockles of the heart. Ah, well! if such as I were admitted to the
junketings, I'd not mind this weary watch."
"'Tis with the lady O'Tei that I must speak, and quickly," said the
messenger.
The sentinel, leaning over the parapet, discerned by the conical shape
of the speaker's hat that he was a priest.
"Oh!" he grumbled, "some wretched coolie sick? Such vermin as these
don't come after the lady O'Kiku. You may come in and seek her, an you
will. She's likely in her bower--we've not seen her this many a day."
As the priest sped with clattering clogs across the paved courtyards,
he perceived that there was feasting toward. The interior of the great
hall, brilliantly illumined, threw gay streaks of yellow out across
the white. Servants moved to and fro, bearers of viands; the sake cup
was already passing freely. By the principal entrance loomed the
unwieldy mass of my lady's kago, gay with banners and streamers, and
looped curtains and lacquered poles--the same gaudy equipage belonging
to O'Tei which, on her arrival, the geisha in her insolence had
appropriated to herself. Hard by, in groups, stamping and clapping
hands for warmth, were the two sets of bearers--sturdy coolies
selected for speed and staying power--each with his head muffled in
blue cotton under his hat, his grass rain-coat bound round his waist,
the handle of his sword carefully protected by oiled paper, strong
sandals of straw upon his feet. Some were bringing wraps and cushions;
some trimming paper lanterns; all shouting with the shrill distractive
hubbub so dear to low-class Japan. The geisha he could see as he went
by, was surrounded by her maidens and an outer circle of braves, armed
ready to attend her. Muffled to the eyes in a thick mantle of deep
maroon, she stood waiting till all was ready, a sake-cup in hand. Past
this noisy assemblage to the remote corner of the tower which faced
the river trotted the messenger. In vivid contrast to the hall, with
its warm reek of heated wine, dark and silent was the bower of the
chatelaine. Was she asleep already, the sad recluse?
Not so. There was a twinkling tiny light above, and like the hum of an
insect there reached his ear the tinkle of a distant samisen. He
knocked, and the sound ceased; a paper window was pushed aside; a
maiden's head peeped forth.
"Who dares at this hour," she inquired angrily, "to intrude upon my
lady's privacy? A pretty pass! Was not the castle large enough for its
debauched inmates that this retired eyrie might not be treated with
respect?"
"I come from Masago," the messenger said. "She is very sick, and has
somewhat of grave import to say to the chatelaine."
Admitted, the priest followed the maiden to the upper floor,
where, surrounded by books and embroidery, and choice blossoms
and graceful nicknacks, sat, in a soft mellow light, she for whom
the peasants sorrowed. Since last we looked on her, she was much
changed--improved--for there was something celestial now---refined and
dreamy, as if reflected from some other world--about her loveliness.
Her manner had that still, self-contained, dignity which is only to be
acquired through much trouble. With grieved concern in her dark eyes,
she hearkened to the messenger. Masago on the verge of death! Was she,
O'Tei, to be left friendless? Of course she would go to her at once.
Ah, if she might change places with the holy Abbess, and depart out of
a sphere where no one wanted her! But it is always those who have no
wish to stay who are kept loitering here. Was Masago so ill, and she
not told of it? This was wrong, for at any hour of the day or night
she would have gladly sought her friend. Not a moment was to be lost.
Quick, quick! Her litter. Her bearers, where were they? Wandering in
the town, possibly, chattering in some tea-house, their daily duty
over.
"There is a litter below," suggested the priest timidly. "The one that
in old times my lady used to use. Its bearers are standing ready with
lanterns lit. Perhaps my lady O'Kiku--"
A look of unusual sternness passed over the features of O'Tei, and a
shadow veiled her eyes.
"O'Kiku!" she muttered, "O'Kiku! My state litter is ready, you say?
Then I will use it; come!"
And to the amazement of the maidens, the chatelaine took from a screen
a mantle of costly furs, and bidding her attendants follow with a
candle, moved rapidly away down a dark corridor which led to the
centre of the castle.
The geisha was so astonished at the apparition which suddenly
presented itself before her that the sake-cup dropped from her
fingers. She turned red and white, and tried, with but poor success,
to laugh off her confusion. With heaving breast and dark brows knit,
O'Tei looked down on her with disdain ineffable.
"You have ordered my kago. Thank you," she said shortly, "for I want
it. Tell the bearers I am ready; and you, priest, proceed before. I go
but to the temple, so shall not want the soldiers."
With that she moved with stately step to where, in a stream of light,
the kago stood.
The braves were breathless, for they beheld the heiress of proud Nara
now, no longer the recluse; and there was an easy air about her of
natural command, which they knew how to admire and appreciate. Not one
had a word to say against the firmly-expressed resolution of their
liege-lady, but stood by sheepishly. O'Tei was the real chatelaine,
and, in absence of her lord, supreme mistress of castle and of
warriors. The bewitching O'Kiku, as if by magic, shrank down into her
natural insignificance. No doubt about it; she was the concubine, low
of birth and common of breeding--the crow by the side of the falcon.
The geisha tingled with exasperated shame, for her quick instinct
could read at a glance the open faces of the braves. Had she toiled
and schemed and wormed and man[oe]uvred for this?--to be swept with a
hand-wave like a beetle from the path by the rival she had so
undervalued! Oh, when my lord returned, an effort must be made to save
the situation! Clearing her husky throat, she said sourly,--
"I was about to view the snows by moonlight, but if yours is an urgent
errand, I will gladly give up my litter. The weather is clear, but for
a few sailing clouds; the moon will serve to-morrow."
Her foot upon the step, the chatelaine turned.
"I take my own, and crave of you no favour," she remarked haughtily.
"To the temple, by way of the river bank. I myself will see the
snows."
The scene had passed so swiftly that 'twas over as soon as begun.
There was naught to tell the tale of the geisha's discomfiture but the
shattered sake-cup. Yes, there was the absent kago, the marks of many
feet where it had stood; the sheepish faces of the warriors. There was
the group, too, of O'Tei's maidens huddled behind, where they
chattered in high glee. The ambitious and presumptuous geisha had been
put down into her place at last, firmly and quietly by her superior.
That was the plain truth which there was no denying. It was written on
the visages of the maidens as well as on those of the samurai.
Accustomed to reign unchallenged, the blow was hard to bear. Bursting
into a torrent of tears, brackish with impotent mortification, O'Kiku
sank upon a cushion, and was as racked by sobs as if she had possessed
a heart.