LITMIR.BIZ

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group had its hierarchic rank and its especial colors. In one the women were arrayed in pale-blue robes flowered with silver; in another in green, lilac, or pale-yellow gowns.

      Upon the dais covered with soft carpets, the Kisaki shone resplendent in the midst of the waves of satin, gauze, and silver brocade formed by her full scarlet and white robes, scintillating with precious stones. The three vertical plates surmounting her diadem looked like three golden sunbeams hovering above her brow.

      Certain princesses had mounted the steps to the throne, and, kneeling upon the topmost one, talked merrily with their sovereign; the latter sometimes littered a low laugh, which scandalized some silent old prince, the faithful guardian of the severe rules of etiquette. But the sovereign was so young, not yet twenty years old, that she might readily be pardoned if she sometimes ceased to feel the weight of the crown upon her head; and at her laughter, joy spread on every side, as the songs of the birds break forth with the first rays of the sun.

      "The supreme gods be praised!" said one princess in an undertone to her companions, "the sorrow that oppressed our sovereign has passed away at last; she is gayer than ever this evening."

      "And in what a clement mood!" said another. "There is Fatkoura restored to favor. She mounts the stops to the throne. The Kisaki has summoned her."

      In fact Fatkoura stood upon the last step of the royal dais; but the melancholy expression of her features, her fixed and bewildered gaze, contrasted strangely with the serene and happy look imprinted upon every face. She thanked the Kisaki for granting her pardon; but she did it in a voice so sad and so singularly troubled that the young Queen trembled, and raised her eyes to her former favorite.

      "Are you ill?" she asked, surprised at the change in the young woman's features.

      "With joy at winning forgiveness, perhaps," stammered Fatkoura.

      "You need not remain for the feast if you are not well."

      "I thank you," said Fatkoura, bending low, as she moved away and was lost in the crowd.

      The notes of a hidden orchestra were soon heard, and the entertainment began.

      A curtain was drawn aside in the wall opposite the throne, and revealed a charming landscape.

      Mount Fusiyama appeared in the background, rearing its snow-sprinkled peak above a necklace of clouds; the sea, of a deep blue, dotted with a few white sails, lay at the foot of the mountains: a road wound along among trees and thickets of flowering shrubs.

      Then a young man entered; he hung his head; he seemed tired and sad. The orchestra was silent. The young man lifted up his voice. He told how misfortune had pursued him. His mother died of grief because the fields cultivated by her husband grew more and more sterile. He followed his mother's coffin with tears, then almost killed himself with work to support his aged father; but the father died in his turn, leaving his son so destitute, that he had not money enough to bury him. He then sold himself as a slave, and with the price of his liberty paid the last marks of respect to his father. Now he was on his way to his master to comply with the terms of the contract. He was going off, when a most beautiful woman appeared in his path. The young man gazed at her in mute admiration.

      "I have a favor to beg of you," said the woman. "I am alone and forsaken; accept me for your wife: I will be devoted and faithful to you."

      "Alas!" said the young man, "I have not a single possession, and even my body is not my own. I have sold myself to a master, to whom I am now on my way."

      "I am skilled in the art of weaving silk," said the unknown; "take me to your master; I will manage to make myself useful."

      "I consent with all my heart," said the youth; "but how comes it that a woman so beautiful as you is willing to take a poor man like me for her husband?"

      "Beauty is nothing in comparison with the qualities of the heart," said the woman.

      "In the second part, the husband and wife are seen working in their master's gardens, – the man cultivating flowers, the wife embroidering a marvellous tissue which she had woven. The master walked about, overlooking his slaves; he approached the young woman and examined her work.

      "Oh, what splendid stuff!" he exclaimed; "it is of inestimable value."

      "I would gladly exchange it for our liberty."

      The master agreed to the bargain, and set them free. Then the husband fell at his wife's feet; he thanked her enthusiastically for having thus delivered him from bondage. But the woman was transformed; she became so brilliant, that the young man, dazzled, could look at her no longer.

      "I am the celestial weaver," said she; "your courage and industry and your filial piety touched me, and, seeing your misery, I descended from heaven to help you. All that you may henceforth undertake shall succeed if you never depart from the path of virtue."

      So saying, the divine weaver rose to heaven and resumed her place in the house of the silkworms.7

      The orchestra then played a dance. The curtain fell, and soon rose again. It revealed the garden of a pagoda, with its thickets of bamboos, its light edifices, with their huge roofs supported by a vast number of beams of every hue. Then scene followed upon scene in pantomime, one having no connection with the other. Religious or military legends were represented, fabulous heroes and symbolic characters appeared in antique costume, some wearing the egg-shaped mitre and the tunic with long open sleeves, others having on their head the old-fashioned crestless helmet, with its gold ornaments, which protected the nape of the neck, or wearing a fantastic headdress, broad and high, in the form of a pyramid of gold, decorated with fringes and tiny bells.

      Then the stage was cleared; and after a prelude from the orchestra, young and lovely dancing-girls appeared, clad in gorgeous dresses, with the wings of birds or butterflies on their shoulders, and long antennas on their foreheads which quivered gently above their golden crowns, wrought in open-work. They performed a slow graceful dance, full of undulating rocking movements; their figure ended, they formed groups on either side of the stage, while comic dancers, disguised in false noses and extravagant costumes, entered and concluded the spectacle by a wild dance full of blows and tumbles.

      From the beginning of the representation the Prince of Nagato had leaned against a wall near the stage, and, half hidden in the folds of a curtain, while every eye was fixed upon the mimic scene, he gazed ecstatically upon the smiling and radiant sovereign.

      It seemed as if the Queen felt oppressed by this ardent and tenacious gaze, for she turned her head, and her eyes rested on the Prince.

      The latter did not lower his eyes – an all-powerful charm prevented him from doing so; that look, descending towards him like a sunbeam, scorched him. For a moment he felt as if he had lost his senses; it seemed as if the Kisaki smiled upon him very faintly. She instantly cast down her eyes and examined the bracelet encircling her arm; then, lifting her head, she appeared to follow the course of the performance attentively.

      When the curtain fell for the last time, in the midst of the hubbub of conversation renewed after a prolonged silence, a woman paused before Nagato.

      "I know your secret, Prince!" she said, in a low, but threatening tone.

      "What do you mean?" cried Nagato; "I do not understand you, Fatkoura."

      "You understand me very well," replied Fatkoura, looking steadily at him; "and you may well turn pale, for your life is in my hands."

      "My life!" murmured the Prince; "I would bless any one who would rid me of it."

      The young woman had moved away; but a great stir now occurred around the Queen. All the maids-of-honor had risen, and silence again fell upon the assembly.

      The Kisaki stepped down from her throne; she advanced slowly through the hall, dragging a weight of satin after her. The princesses in groups, according to their rank, followed at a distance, stopping whenever she stopped. All the guests bowed low as she passed. She spoke a few words to an illustrious Daimio or a lady of high rank, then went on; in this way she reached the Prince of Nagato.

      "Iwakura," said she, drawing from her bosom a sealed letter wrapped in a piece of green satin, "give this paper to the

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