Читать книгу: «The Usurper», страница 17
"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."
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE TREATY OF PEACE
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."
"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."
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.
CHAPTER XXV.
CONFIDENCES
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 a détour; 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.
Fide-Yori trembled with agitation and alarm.
"She will escape me," said he. "Must I find her only to lose her, after waiting so long?"
"Did you see which way the boat went?" asked Iwakura.
"I thought it went up stream."
"Well, let us row that way, then; they can't have gone far. One is fairly held captive here. We shall find her again."
Fide-Yori took courage. "Row up the river," he cried to his men. The young Shogun leaned over the edge and gazed eagerly about. Several people recognized him. Numbers of princesses of the royal household, lords, and generals passed close by him. He saw his mother and General Harounaga again; but the face he sought had vanished.
"Perhaps we were too hasty," said he.
They retraced their course; then went up stream once more.
"The festivities are almost over!" Fide-Yori cried, suddenly. "Let us go to the outskirts of the throng and wait for that boat; when it makes for home, it must pass us."
"Which way shall we go?" said Nagato.
"Towards the upper town; there are no houses of nobles in the direction of the sea."
They waited in vain; the boat did not appear. It had gone down the river, and proceeded towards the suburbs. Fide-Yori went back to the palace discouraged. The Prince of Nagato tried to console him.
"Are you very sure that the woman you saw was the one you are looking for?" said he.
"Sure!" cried Fide-Yori. "I never saw her face but once; but my eyes can never forget it."
"Then," said the Prince, "instead of being sad, rejoice. You only imagined that she lived in this city; now you are certain she does. So we are sure of finding her. You must give another entertainment, and she will be there."
"You are right, friend," said Fide-Yori; "you shall help me; we will search the city. We will find her yet; she shall be my wife. Then my life, which has been but a series of sorrows and disillusions, will begin to brighten. Let us start to-morrow, eh? We'll open the campaign before a new festival can be arranged; we will study the city, district by district; we'll wrest her secret from her. Oh! you have given me fresh courage; you have almost made me happy!"
Hope illumined the young Shogun's eyes, a smile trembled on his lips. All at once a cloud darkened his brow. "How cruel and selfish I am!" he exclaimed. "You, my best friend, my devoted brother, have just lost the woman whom you love; she died a frightful death. And I insult your grief by talking of my love and my hopes. How dare I be gay when you are wretched!"
"Master," said Nagato, "I feel a deep regret for the woman who died for my sake; I cherished a brotherly affection for her. But my betrothed was not my beloved."
"What do I hear?" cried Fide-Yori; "you lift a great weight from my heart. I supposed you were crushed forever. Then you may be happy yet, as well as I."
Iwakura shook his head. "My love is made up of light and shade," said he. "I can never be entirely happy; it is composed half of celestial bliss, and half of utter misery. Such as it is, however, it is my whole life."
"Whom do you love, then?" asked Fide-Yori.
"Oh, Master!" said the Prince, covering his eyes with his hand, "do not ask me."
"It is so sweet to talk of the loved one! See! since I made you my confidant, my trouble has diminished by half."
"I am condemned to silence."
"Even to me? Is it thus you love me? I regret that I opened my heart to you."
"If I should confess the object of my love, you would shun the subject forever."
"Is it my mother?"
"No," said Nagato, smiling.
"Who is it? Tell me, I beseech you!"
"The Kisaki."
"Unhappy man!" cried Fide-Yori; and, as the Prince had predicted, he added not another word.
Next day the work of demolishing the ramparts began. Ten thousand men attacked them; they stood firm. No one knew what to do next. The stones rested on sloping ground, and seemed as if riveted in their places. Above, on the terre-plein, which formed a spacious terrace, cedar-trees grew, and cast a heavy shade. The first breach was made in the towers projecting at intervals from the walls. They were thrown down into the moat; then huge blocks were dragged from the walls, and the work was ended. Only the shattered walls seemed to be still standing; the stones were not there, the mountain of earth remained; but the moat was filled up.
While this work of destruction was going on, the city continued to make merry. Fide-Yori ordered a huge bell to be cast, and dedicated it solemnly to the temple of Buddha; upon this bell were engraved the words: Henceforth my house shall be at peace.
On the occasion of the consecration public rejoicings were held, and a splendid performance was announced to be given at the chief theatre in Osaka. A new play was to be brought out, entitled, "The Taiko-Ki," that is to say, the story of Taiko. This semi-historical work was written in honor of Fide-Yori's father. The moment was well chosen for its performance, and the preparations were therefore hastened on. But as the stage-setting was to be very elaborate, no positive date could be fixed.
Nothing else was talked of throughout the city. Places were reserved in advance; from five to six kobangs14 were paid for a seat. The women eagerly arranged their drosses for the occasion; tailors and embroiderers were beside themselves with commissions. The praises of the leading actor, who was to take the part of Taiko, were loudly sung. Everybody knew him; he was famous. He had been nicknamed Nariko-Ma, the "Humming-Top."
Fide-Yori, too, waited impatiently for the day of the performance. He hoped that Omiti would be present; and there at least she could not escape him. His search throughout the city with Prince Nagato had been fruitless. It was not so easy as they had fancied, to enter every house and ask for the young girl. They began with the homes of the nobility. That was comparatively easy. The Shogun honored the wives of the absent lords with a visit incognito; it was his whim to see the family of the princesses. He thus passed in review all the noble maidens of Osaka. To enter the houses of wealthy citizens, the two friends were forced to don a disguise, and were not always well received. Their devices to get a glimpse of the daughters of the house varied. They sometimes pretended to have seen an article of priceless value drop from a young girl's sleeve, and were unwilling to return it to any but herself. Or they would say they were sent by an old man in utter despair, who had lost his only daughter, and was looking for a girl of the same age, and bearing some likeness to her, that he might leave his immense fortune to her. This latter invention, of the Prince of Nagato, was quite successful. But the task was a long one; they had already spent a week in the search, and had only visited the palaces and one street in Osaka.
"We shall never contrive to see every house in this great city," said Fide-Yori; "we are crazy to think of doing it."
"We may grow old before we find her whom we seek," replied Nagato. "No matter, let us go on looking; perhaps we shall come across her in the very next house we enter."
Fide-Yori sighed.
"Let us wait till the doors of the theatre are thrown open," said he.
At last huge posters, printed on silk or colored paper, announced the date of the performance.
"We shall see her at the theatre; she will be there, I feel sure," said the Shogun, clinging to that hope.
