Part 12

THE PRINCESS SADO-KO

WHILE the ladies of the household of the Princess Sado-ko, and guests of her cousin the Prince Komatzu, were gossiping over their noonday tea, Kamura Junzo, alone, was wandering aimlessly about the palace gardens. He was melancholy and restless. Instead of being satisfied with his success, Junzo was disappointed. He could not have explained why this was so. His patron had been pleased with his work, he had received marked attention and favor from those in power at court, and finally was actually being petted by the ladies. Perhaps it was this latter enervating thing that rendered the young man disappointed and disgusted.

Court life had not proved, after all, what he had fancied and pictured. Nobility, such as he had anticipated, was there only in name. Here in this small court of the noblest prince of the blood, gossip and scandal buzzed like the swarming of bees.

Junzo did not wonder that the Princess Sado-ko kept herself in seclusion in her private wing of the palace. In spite of the curious tales he had heard of her eccentricities, he felt a glow of sympathy for her. Plainly she disapproved of the life about her.

As he strolled about the castle gardens, Junzo’s memory carried him back into the days of his childhood. A picture grew up in his mind of a great stone wall and a cherry tree which drooped above it, and underneath the cherry tree a small, bewitching creature in a miniature kimono and the royal kanzashi in her hair.

He was smiling to himself in a tender, unconscious way, when he came to a bamboo gate, which served as entrance through the hedge of boxwood which divided the portion of the gardens in which he was from those Junzo knew were always reserved for the royal ladies of the family. Now he knew also that Komatzu was an orphan without sisters, and that his cousin Sado-ko was the only lady who ever occupied this portion of the palace.

Pausing before the gate, Junzo thought that as a boy he would not have hesitated to push it open and penetrate into the forbidden territory beyond. He would like now to take a peep into this garden of Sado-ko. If he should chance to meet her, might he not crave mercy in the name of that game they had played as children together in the gardens of the palace Aoyama? She might be gracious still. So far it had not been his fortune to see her in the palace Komatzu, for she was seldom in the public places of the palace. He had an insatiable curiosity to see how she had changed since childhood.

So he stepped across into the private gardens, making his way toward the bamboo grove, through which he passed on toward the little river which he could see in a valley beyond, twisting and babbling like a brook. But when he came to the other end of the grove he perceived that the garden was unlike those of the palace Aoyama, which was softly enclosed on all sides with trees and bushes. Here the walks were sanded and the landscape scenery was in miniature. There were flower beds and clumps of bamboo. Stately white jars containing rare ferns were placed at intervals in the centre of the rounded lawns, while the walks were lined with pretty sea-shells and white pebbles.

Junzo soon realized that this was not a garden in which he could remain for long unobserved. He was about to retrace his steps when he perceived coming toward him along the path a young girl, whose arms were so full of blossoms that her face was partially hidden. As it was too late for him now to retreat, he stood where he was, respectfully waiting for her to approach.

She hastened up the path toward him, and as she appeared to be absorbed in her own meditations and had not so far glanced in his direction, Junzo stepped backward toward the grove, hoping she would pass by without seeing him. This she doubtless would have done had not the young man, as she came opposite, made an odd exclamation, and then stepped before her path. What he said was:—

“Masago!”

She raised a startled face to his and stood perfectly still before him in the path, the blossoms slowly dropping from her arms. That strange expression of mingled fear and amazement awoke chaotic memories in the mind of Junzo. It was Masago who stood before him, he felt sure; but some one other than Masago had once looked up into his face in the same startled fashion. It must have been a dream or fancy. He repeated her name:—

“Masago!” And then, “What do you here?”

“Who are you?” she asked in a low voice, her eyes travelling over his face. “What is your honorable name, and where do you come from?”

The very words had a ring of familiarity to the ears of Junzo. He felt like one in a dream, and answered almost mechanically:—

“I am Kamura Junzo. I come from—” He made a slight motion toward the adjoining gardens.

A slow pink glow grew up into her face and spread even to her little ears and whitest neck. Her eyes were shining, almost as if there were tears within them.

“Ah,” she said softly, “I do remember you.”

“We are betrothed,” he said, passing his hand bewilderedly across his eyes.

“Betrothed?” she repeated in that sweet, low-toned voice.

“Yes, Masago. Do you not remember then?”

“But my name is not Masago,” she said simply.

“Not Masago!” he repeated.

“No. I am the Princess Sado-ko.”

After that there was a long silence between them. They looked into each other’s faces without speaking. Then the young man found his voice.

“I thought the august sun had touched my brain,” he said. “I knew that your face was familiar to me, and because you are the image of one to whom—”

He broke off, flushing under the glance of her soft, searching eyes.

“To whom you are betrothed,” she finished quietly.