The Usurper

One day, as she sat in her room embroidering, she noticed that the people talking in the room below had dropped their voices. Usually they cared very little who heard them. Her heart leaped in her bosom.

"I must hear what they say," she murmured.

She ran to the top of the staircase; and holding fast to the railing, glided to the lowest step as lightly as air, and succeeded in catching a few disjointed sentences.

"Yes, that beach is unfrequented."

"We will enter the inn by the door which opens from the sea."

"And we will leave on the street side in small groups."

"The soldiers must be disguised as mechanics."

"Of course; but they will keep their weapons under their cloaks."

"The city is already greatly agitated; we will proceed to the fortress in a body, and summon the Shogun to abdicate."

"If he refuses, we will enter the palace and take possession of him."

Omiti shivered with horror. "I must get away from here," she muttered; "I must give the alarm."

The conspirators continued: "We must hasten; to-morrow, at nightfall, the soldiers may land."

"Directly after, a cargo of wheat and rice will arrive."

Omiti went back to her room. She had heard enough; her resolve was taken. A sort of mystical ardor filled her soul. "My mission in this world is to save him, to hold him back on the edge of the precipice," she thought with exaltation. "This is the second time that I have discovered a guilty secret, – a plot against the man whom I loved before I ever knew him. The will of Heaven is displayed in this. Once more I will point out his peril to him; my feeble hand shall stay the execution of the crime."

She considered the means she might employ to escape from the house. Two other young women shared her chamber at night. She could not trust them; they did not like her, and were devoted to their master.

Upon the ground-floor all the doors were closed on the inside by heavy bars; besides, the men servants, who had charge of the cellar department, slept down stairs. Therefore it was useless to think of escape in that direction. There remained the window; it was somewhat high above the ground, but that was not what troubled Omiti. How could she open the window without rousing the other women If she succeeded in doing it without a noise, the cold air blowing into the room would wake them. Omiti thought of the window that opened on the staircase landing. But the one in her room looked upon the street, while the other opened into the garden; and once in the garden, she still had the fence to climb.

"No matter," thought Omiti; "I'll get out of the window on the stairs."

But how? She had no ladder at her disposal. With a rope? Where should she get a rope without arousing suspicion? She decided to manufacture one. Her comrades had gone for a walk, and she had plenty of time. Opening the boxes containing her clothes, she took out various strong silk dresses and cut them into strips. She then braided these strips together, and fastened the strands by hard knots. Then she rolled up the rope, and hid it under her mattress.

"Now," said she, "I am sure I can save him."

The day seemed long to her; the fever of expectation made her tremble nervously; her teeth chattered at intervals.

The other girls came back, their cheeks rosy with the cold; they wearied Omiti with the recital of all they had seen and done. They had gone to the banks of the Yedogawa to see if the ice was drifting. They fancied they saw a few floating blocks, but perhaps it was only snow; for there was snow everywhere, even on the golden fishes that crowned the high tower of the fortress, which were turned to silver. The wind was icy; but, to ward off the cold, the men had put on embroidered velvet ear-caps…

Omiti paid no attention to the interminable chatter of the women. She was delighted to see the lanterns lighted. Darkness had come, but the long evening still lay before her. She could not eat any supper; and feigned illness, to avoid singing or playing the biva.

She returned to her room, where her companions soon joined her; their walk had tired them, and they quickly fell asleep.

The noise, the laughter, and songs of the men who were getting tipsy below lasted yet a long time. But at last she heard the familiar sound of the bars dropping into their places; every one was gone.

She waited another half-hour, to give the servants time to sleep soundly; then, without the slightest noise, she rose, took the rope from under her mattress, and slid slightly aside the panel opening on the staircase, shutting it when she had passed. She listened, and heard nothing but a few snores, which were very reassuring. She opened the window; the night air made her shudder. She leaned out, and looked down; the white snow afforded a dim light.

"It is high," thought the young girl; "will my rope be long enough?"

She fastened it to the window-frame, and unrolled it. It reached the ground, and even trailed a little on the snow.

Omiti wound her gown about her, and knelt on the edge of the window. But as she was about to intrust herself to that frail cord, a sort of instinctive fear took possession of her; she hesitated.

"What!" said she, "I tremble for my life when his is in danger!"

She let herself go abruptly, holding to the rope with both hands. A sharp pain almost forced a scream from her; she felt as if her arms would be pulled from their sockets; her hands were torn as she slid rapidly down. But all at once one of the knots in the silk gave way under her weight, and the rope broke.

She fell upon the snow, which swallowed her up. But her fall was deadened; and she rose to her feet, feeling no pain, but a sudden lassitude. After shaking off the snow, with which she was covered, she crossed the garden and gained the fence. Luckily the door was only fastened by a big round bolt; after several attempts, she succeeded in drawing it back.

She was on the shore, out of that ill-omened house, free at last! The strong wind blew sharp from the sea, whose monotonous roar she heard. She began to run, sinking ankle deep in the snow, which rose behind her in clouds of glittering particles.

She was in such haste to be gone from the tavern, that instead of going round the corner of the house into the street upon which the front door opened, she followed the garden fence, which soon came to an end, and was replaced by a wall running round another enclosure.

"I will enter the city by the next lane that opens on the beach," thought Omiti.

She reached a sort of open square on the sea-shore, bordered on the other side by a semicircle of wretched huts, half hidden in their mantles of snow. In the middle, a lighted lantern, hanging from a post, made a shimmering, blood-red spot. The light was very dim. The young girl took a few steps into the square, but suddenly recoiled with a cry of horror: she saw an awful face gazing down at her from above the lantern.

At the scream uttered by the young girl, a myriad other shrieks rang out from the bills of countless crows; who, roused abruptly, flew up and circled in the air in aimless fashion. Omiti was soon surrounded by the ill-omened birds. Motionless with fright, she thought herself the victim of some hallucination, and rubbed her eyes, trying to take in and understand what she saw. That face still glared at her; she had snow in her eyebrows, her hair, her open mouth, and her haggard eyes. At first Omiti thought she saw a man leaning against the post; but on looking closer, she found that the head, without a body, was suspended to a nail by the hair, and she recognized that she was in the square where all the public executions took place.

The ground was covered with mounds, – graves hastily dug for the victims. The body of the last criminal had been left at the foot of the post; a dog, busily scratching the snowy shroud that veiled the corpse, uttered a long howl, and fled with a bloody fragment in his jaws. A large bronze statue of Buddha, seated on a lotos, was visible, spotted with white flakes.

Omiti conquered her terror and crossed the square, stretching out her arms to drive away the crowd of ravenous crows which flocked about her. They pursued her with their melancholy shrieks, which were mingled with the roar of the sea.

The young girl went rapidly down a narrow street, illumined by no ray of light. The snow had been trampled, and she walked through icy mud. The darkness was profound; it was not even mitigated by the whiteness of the earth. Omiti kept close to the walls, to feel her way. But the houses did not follow in regular order; there were vacant spaces; she sometimes lost her guide. Her feet sank in pits of soft snow, which began to melt in places. She fell, then rose again; the edge of her dress was soaked. She felt benumbed with cold.

"Shall I ever reach my journey's end?" she thought.

Another street appeared, crossing the first; a few lights glittered down its length. Into this Omiti turned.

Without knowing it, the girl was passing through the very worst quarter of the city. Thieves, disreputable women, and vagabonds of every sort congregate there. There, too, may be found a peculiar class of men, the Ronins. These are young men, sometimes noble, dragged down by dissipation to the lowest stage of ignominy. Driven from their homes or stripped of their office, but preserving the right to wear two swords, they take refuge among the criminal classes, give themselves over to all sorts of shameful industries, assassinate at other people's orders, are the leaders of bands, and exercise great influence over the villains among whom they live. A few hours earlier it would have been impossible for the young girl to enter this region without being attacked, insulted, or carried by main force into some of the evil dens of which it is composed. Fortunately the night was far advanced; the streets were empty.

But another obstacle awaited Omiti: this quarter of the city is shut in by a gate guarded by a watchman. How could she make him open the door at this hour? What excuse could she give to the suspicious and probably surly keeper? Omiti considered this as she walked. She soon saw the wooden gate at the end of a street, lighted by several lanterns; she noticed the hut, made of planks, for the gatekeeper's shelter.

"I must be bold," she thought; "if I manifest the slightest uneasiness he will distrust me."

She marched straight up to the door. The man was probably asleep, for the sound of her footsteps did not bring him out. Omiti measured the gate with her eye. It was impossible to climb over; it was surmounted by barbed iron wires.

The young girl, her heart beating hard, knocked at the hut. The keeper came out with a lantern. He was well wrapped in a wadded robe, and his head was lost in the folds of a brown woollen scarf; he looked sickly, and besotted with drink.

"What's the matter?" said he, in a hoarse voice, lifting his lantern to a level with Omiti's face.

"Open the door," said the girl.

The fellow burst out laughing.

"Open the door at this time of night?" he cried; "you're crazy." And he turned on his heel.

"Stop!" said she, holding him fast; "my father is sick, and sent me to fetch the doctor."

"Very well, there are plenty of doctors here. There's one not ten steps away; there's another in Grasshopper Street; and still a third at the corner of Thieves' Lane."

"But my father has no faith in any but his own physician, who lives in another district."

"Go home and to sleep!" said the man. "That's all a lie; but you can't fool me. Good night!"

He was about to close the door of his hut.

"Let me pass," cried Omiti, in despair, "and I swear you shall be paid beyond your utmost hopes."

"You have money, then?" said, the keeper, turning quickly back.

Omiti recollected that she had a few kobangs in her sash, and said, "Yes."

"Why didn't you say so in the beginning?"

He took the monstrous key that hung from his belt and went to the gate. Omiti gave him a kobang. It was a large amount to the ill-paid man, who drank up his wages as fast as he earned them.

"With such a reason in your hands, there was no need to put your father to death!" said he, throwing open the gate.

"Which is the shortest way to reach the banks of the Yedogawa?" she asked.

"Walk straight ahead. You'll come to another gate; it opens on the shore."

"Thank you!" said she.

And she moved rapidly away. The road was better; the snow had been shovelled away and piled in heaps.

"How I am safe," thought the happy girl, heedless of the fatigue that weighed her down.

She gained the second gate. But now she knew what she was to do to have it opened. The keeper was pacing up and down, stamping his feet, to keep warm.

"I'll give you a kobang if you'll open the gate," she exclaimed.

The man stretched out his hand and put the key in the lock. Omiti passed through; she was on the bank of the river. She had only to climb up to the castle now. The road was long, but unimpeded. She walked bravely forward, drawing her gown close about her, to ward off the cold.

The guardians of the night passed on the other shore, striking their tambourines, to announce the last watch of the night. When the young girl reached the castle, a wan and pallid light was struggling to break through the clouds. The snow resumed its dazzling bluish whiteness; it seemed to radiate light rather than to absorb it from that gloomy sky, apparently covered with reddish smoke.

The castle reared its imposing mass before the young girl's gaze. The lofty towers stood out against the heavens, the broad roofs of the princely pavilions were ranged in order; the cedars along the first terrace had collected on their evergreen branches heavy lumps of snow, fragments of which fell from time to time and slid from bough to bough.

Omiti felt the tears come into her eyes when she saw the ruined walls and the filled-up moats. "My poor dear Prince!" she said. "You have given yourself up to your enemy; if the war were to begin again, you would be lost. At least you shall escape once more from the odious conspiracy contrived against you."

All were asleep in the castle, except the sentinels pacing to and fro; the fallen ramparts were replaced by living walls.

At the moment Omiti touched her goal, she feared she had not the strength to take the few steps necessary to reach the fortress-gate. Soaked with snow, spent with fatigue and excitement, the cold morning air made her shiver from head to foot. Everything swam before her; her pulses throbbed; there was a singing in her ears. She hurried to the gates; the sentinels crossed their lances, to bar her way.

"No passing here!" they said.

"Yes! I must pass at once, – I must see the King, or you shall be severely punished!" cried Omiti, in broken accents.

The soldiers shrugged their shoulders. "Stand back, woman; you are drunk, or mad. Begone!"

"I beseech you, let me in. Call some one; I feel as if I were dying. But first I must speak with the King! I must! You hear? Do not let me die before I have said my say."

Her voice was so sad and so full of entreaty that the men were moved.

"What ails her?" said one. "She is pale as the snow; she might die, as she says."

"And if she has something to tell!"

"Let us take her to the Prince of Nagato; he can decide whether it's worth hearing."

"Well, come in!" said one of the soldiers; "we pity you."

Omiti took a few tottering steps; but her strength deserted her. She hurriedly snatched from her bosom a withered flower and held it to the soldiers; then, with a stifled cry, she fell backwards.

The embarrassed and uneasy soldiers looked at each other, consulting one another with a glance.

"If she is dead," said one, "we shall be accused of killing her."

"We'd better throw her into the river."

"Yes; but how are we to touch a corpse without making ourselves impure!"

"We will purify ourselves according to prescribed laws; that will be better than being sentenced to have our heads cut off."

"That's so; let's be quick. Poor thing! it's a pity," added the fellow, leaning over Omiti. "But then it's her own fault: why did she die like that?"

Just as they were about to raise her and carry her to the river, a clear young voice was heard singing: —

"Is there aught on earth more precious than saki?

If I were not a man, I would fain be a tun!"

The soldiers sprang back. A lad came forward well wrapped in a fur-trimmed robe, his head buried in a hood tied under his chin. He proudly rested his velvet-gloved hand upon the hilts of his two swords.

It was Loo returning from a nocturnal revel alone and on foot, that he might not be denounced to the Prince of Nagato by his suite; for Loo had a suite of his own, now that he was a Samurai.

"What's going on here? Who is this woman stretched motionless on the ground?" he cried, casting a terrible, glance from one soldier to the other.

The soldiers dropped on their knees, exclaiming:

"Your lordship, we are innocent. She wanted to enter the castle, to speak to the Shogun; touched by her prayers, we were about to let her pass and to conduct her to the illustrious Prince of Nagato, when all at once she fell dead."

Loo bent over the young girl. "Donkeys! Dolts! Drinkers of milk! Trodden-down shoes!" he shouted, in a rage, "don't you see that she still breathes, that she has only fainted? You leave her there in the snow instead of going to her aid? To cure you of your stupidity, I'll have you beaten till you drop dead on the spot."

The soldiers shook in every limb.

"Come," continued Loo, "lift her carefully, and follow me."

The men obeyed. As they entered the gate of the fortress, the young Samurai knocked at the guard-house close by. "Renew the sentinels!" he shouted; "I need these fellows."

And he went on. The Prince of Nagato was asleep. Loo did not hesitate to rouse him. He knew that the Shogun was trying to find traces of a young girl whom he adored. He had followed the King, in his search through the city, with his master. The fainting woman, whom he had just found at the castle gate, was very like the portrait sketched by Fide-Yori.

"Master," he said to the Prince, who, still but half awake, fixed a surprised and sleepy gaze upon him, "I think I have found the object of the Shogun's search."

"Omiti!" exclaimed Nagato; "where did you find her?"

"In the snow! But come quickly. She is cold and motionless; do not leave her to die."

The Prince slipped on a fur-lined garment, and ran to the room where Omiti lay.

"This may well be the one we have sought," said he, as he saw her; "let some one call the Shogun. But first send servant-women here, and let them take off this young girl's wet and muddy clothes. Summon also the palace doctor."

Omiti was wrapped in the softest furs; the women stirred up the fire burning in a huge bronze bowl. The King came quickly. From the threshold, through the open panels, he saw the girl in the midst of a vast heap of splendid furs and stuffs. He uttered a cry of joy, and rushed towards her.

"Omiti," he cried, "is this a dream? Is it you? After so long a separation you are restored to me at last!"

At the King's outburst the young girl trembled; she opened her eyes. The doctor arrived, breathless; he knelt beside her, and took her hand.

"It is nothing," said he, after he had felt her pulse carefully; "a slight fainting fit, undoubtedly, brought on by cold and fatigue."

Omiti, with her large eyes full of surprise, shaded by long quivering lashes, gazed at the people grouped about her. She saw the King at her feet; standing close beside her, the Prince of Nagato, smiling kindly at her; then the grave face of the doctor, made grotesque by an enormous pair of spectacles. She thought she must be the toy of some dream.

"Do you suffer, my sweet love?" said Fide-Yori, clasping Omiti's little hand in both his own. "What has happened to you? Why are you so pale?"

She looked at the King, and heard his words without comprehending them. Suddenly her memory cleared; she rose abruptly. "I must speak to the Shogun!" she cried; "to him alone, and at once."

With a gesture, Fide-Yori dismissed the spectators, but detained the Prince of Nagato. "You can speak before him; he is my dearest friend," said he. "But calm yourself. Why do you look so frightened?"

Omiti tried to collect her ideas, troubled by fever. "Because," she said, "Hieyas, by means of wily emissaries, is inciting the citizens of Osaka to rebel, and to hate there lawful lord. An insurrection is to take place this very night, and soldiers disguised as mechanics will land upon the shore in the outskirts of the town. They will enter the city and march upon your dismantled castle, to demand that you shall abdicate your title, or to kill you if you refuse. You do not doubt my words, I hope? Once already you have had proof, alas! that the misfortunes I predict are real."

"What!" cried Fide-Yori, his eyes filling with tears, "was it to save me yet again that you came? You are the good genius of my life!"

"Make haste and give your orders; take measures to prevent the crimes which are impending," said Omiti; "time presses. It is to be to-night, do you understand? Hieyas' soldiers are to invade your city by treachery." Fide-Yori turned to the Prince of Nagato. "Iwakura," said he, "what do you advise me to do?"

"Let us warn General Yoke-Moura. Let him call his men to arms, and watch the shore and the city. Is there not some place where the leaders of the conspiracy are to meet!" he added, addressing Omiti.

"There is," said the young girl; "at the Day-break Inn."

"Very good; then we must surround the inn and seize the rebels. Do you desire, master, that I should see your orders executed!"

"You will make me happy, friend, by doing so."

"I leave you, sire," said Nagato. "Let nothing disturb you, and give yourself freely up to the joy of reunion with the woman whom you love."

The Prince withdrew.

"What does he mean?" thought the astonished Omiti. "The woman whom you love: of whom was he talking?"

She was alone with the King, and dared not lift her eyes; her heart throbbed violently. Fide-Yori, too, was troubled; he did not speak, but gazed at the lovely girl who trembled before him. She, lost in blushes, twisted in her fingers a tiny withered twig.

"What have you in your hand?" gently asked the Shogun; "is it a talisman?"

"Don't you recognize the spray of lemon-blossoms which you gave me when I saw you?" said she. "Just now, when I fainted, I offered it to the sentinels. I thought that they would take it to you, and that the sight of it would recall me to you. But I find it is still in my hand."

"What! You kept those flowers?"

Omiti raised her clear eyes to the King, revealing her soul in her face; then dropped them quickly. "Because you gave them to me," said she.

"You love me, then?" cried Fide-Yori.

"O master!" said the startled girl, "I should never have dared to confess the weakness of my heart."

"You will not confess your love? Well! I love you with all my soul, and I dare to tell you so."

"You love me? – you, the Shogun?" she exclaimed, with touching amazement.

"Yes, and I have long waited your coming, wicked one. I have sought you; I was plunged in despair; you have made me suffer cruelly! But since you are here, all is forgotten. Why did you delay so long? Had you no thought of me?"

"You were my only thought; it blossomed like a celestial flower in the midst of my sad life; without it I should have died."

"You thought of me, while I groaned at your absence; and you did not come?"

"I did not know that you had deigned to remember me. Besides, had I known it, I should not have come."

"What!" cried the Shogun, "is it thus you love me? Would you refuse to live with me – to be my wife?"

"Your wife!" murmured Omiti, with a bitter smile.

"Certainly," said Fide-Yori; "why do you look so sad?"

"Because I am not worthy even to be numbered with your servants; and when you learn what I have become, you will drive me from you with loathing."

"What do you mean?" cried the Shogun, turning pale.

"Listen," said the girl, in a hollow voice. "Hieyas came to my father's castle; he found out that I had discovered the frightful plot against your life, and had betrayed it; he had me carried away and sold as servant in a tavern of the lowest class. There I have lived as women live who are slaves. I never left that inn until last night. Once more I overheard a conspiracy against you. I escaped from the window by means of a rope, which broke. Now you are saved, let me go; it is not fit that you should stay any longer in the company of a woman like me."