IT was early afternoon. The ladies in the Komatzu palace were taking their noon-day siesta, and idly discussing the work of the artist, Kamura Junzo. Since he had become a favorite among them, many of the ladies wished that he could be retained in the palace a little longer.
As they sipped their amber tea indolently in one of the chambers of the palace, they gossiped with the freedom common to the women of the West rather than the East.
“Now,” said the little Countess Matsuka, handing her cup to a page, “if we were only so fortunate as to have two Imperial heroes instead of one!”
A languorous beauty, swinging lazily in a Dutch hammock, raised herself upon an elbow.
“But the heroes nowadays are all heimins” (commoners), she said with soft scorn.
“Oh, Duchess Aoi,” laughed a pretty young woman, who, more industrious, was working at an embroidery frame, “how can you say so? There are no heimins to-day.”
“Oh, true,” responded the other, crossly, “there is no caste to-day. The heimin has become the politician.”
“Yes,” said the pretty one at the frame, “and the politician rules and owns Nippon.”
The Duchess Aoi sat up aggressively.
“You appear to have the confidence of the diplomats, O Lady Fuji-no,” said she.
Fuji tossed her head in malicious silence.
“Noble ladies!” came the warning voice of the elderly mentor-chaperon. “It is too warm to engage the august voice in argument. Let us have music.”
The Duchess Aoi shrugged her shapely shoulders.
“The court geishas are busy in the male quarters,” she said, “and the foreign band has broken our ear-drums.”
One of the ladies laughed.
“Besides,” she added to Aoi’s speech, “we don’t want the foreign music in our private halls. It is enough for state occasions.”
“I enjoy it augustly well,” said a stiff little lady sitting uncomfortably in her Paris gown on an English chair, who bore the euphonious name of Yu-giri (Evening Mist). She was the only one of the company who wore European costume. The others were glad enough to revel in the comfortable enjoyment of the kimono.
“If her Royal Highness were not so augustly eccentric, she might set the example,” said the Countess Matsuka, thoughtfully.
“Which Highness, countess?”
“There is only one Royal Highness in the palace now,” said Lady Fuji, smiling up from her frame,—“the Princess Sado-ko.”
Aoi tossed her head angrily. Her mother had been a concubine of one of the Imperial princes, and she was of the blood. Yet she was maid of honor to the Princess Sado-ko, for whom she had no love.
“And what example might she set?” Aoi inquired with evident disdain.
“That of sitting for her portrait to be painted,” explained the Countess Matsuka.
All of the ladies now showed extreme interest in the subject, and several began to speak at once.
“Oh, but she would never countenance it!”
“She fairly despises the ways of us moderns.”
“Just to think, it is in her power to keep our charming artist at court indefinitely.”
“But how lovely to have all our pictures painted. We, of course, would all follow suit.”
“—if she would only set the fashion.”
“Well, ladies,” said the Lady Fuji, “the princess is not our fashion-plate, surely. We do not follow her, it would seem. If we did—”
“We should live like cloistered priestesses,” said the one in the hammock.
“Yes, seclude ourselves from the sight of the whole court,” said she of the Paris gown.
“Then why need we await her august example?” asked the Lady Fuji.
“Because we are cowards—all,” said the Countess Matsuka. “To sit for our pictures just like any of the barbarians is too much of an innovation for any of the humble ones to start at court.”
“Well, then,” said Fuji, “who is brave enough to suggest it to the princess? She is both conservative and unconventional, and who knows she might take a fancy to the idea and consent?”
“Well, suppose you suggest it to her.”
“I? Oh, indeed, I am too honorably insignificant.”
“Then you, countess.”
“Oh no, indeed; I am still smarting under the sting of her little royal tongue.”
“Ah, you are too fulsome in your flattery to her, countess,” said Lady Fuji-no. “Diplomacy and tact with her Highness should take the form of frankness, even brusqueness.”
“Yes,” said the one in the hammock, sarcastically, “I noted the effect of your diplomacy the other morning.”
Lady Fuji-no colored, and bent her head above her work.
“Oh, these days, these days!” groaned the elderly lady, who was both chaperon and mentor to the others. “Now, in my insignificant youth it would have been a crime of treason to speak with disrespect of a royal princess.”
“But you see,” was the quick retort, “what happened to your august days, Madame Bara. They are quite, quite snuffed out. To-day is—to-day! We are modern—Western—if it please you!”
“Yes,” assented the Paris gown, “that is it exactly.”
“While the Princess Sado-ko remains—Eastern.”
Lady Fuji, at the frame, had found her voice again. The Duchess Aoi in the hammock closed her eyes contemptuously.
“The day is long,” she said, “and our conversation most dull.”
“Well, we have not solved the question yet,” said the anxious little Countess Matsuka.
“Oh, let the artist go,” yawned one of the company, who had not yet spoken.
There was a hubbub of dissent to this.
“And leave us to the mercies of Komatzu’s dandies?”
“The artist fellow is entertaining. He is preferable to a geisha.”
“Oh, what a comparison!”
“Well, ladies,” said Madame Bara, soothingly, “you will soon be back in Tokyo.”
“Yes, thank Shaka!”
“Summer creeps.”
“The Prince Komatzu would not be flattered, ladies, at your boredom in his summer home,” said Madame Bara.
“Then the prince should choose more entertaining gentlemen for his household,” retorted Lady Fuji-no. “Now, in the palace Nijo—”
“Oh, it is well, well, to be in favor at the palace Nijo,” said the Duchess Aoi, meaningly; and instantly the several eyes of the company were focussed on the flushing face of Fuji, for it was quite well known that Nijo had shown her marked favor of late.
“For my part,” said the chaperon didactically, “I should be honored to be the exalted guest of his Imperial Highness. Why surely, ladies, you will confess that without a doubt he is the most brilliant and noble gentleman of the court.”
The Duchess Aoi turned her face away. A feverish color flushed her cheeks. She could not speak.
“He is just exactly like the statue that the artist has made of him,” said Lady Fuji-no.
“But the statue is sublime,” said Madame Bara.
“Yes. But it is marble, madame.”
There was silence a moment, while the Lady Fuji carefully folded her work, then the Duchess Aoi turned her flushing face:—
“Is it any wonder that he is marble?” she said. “He is betrothed to the Princess Sado-ko.”
