Court before any
other lady, and had more children than one. The Emperor, therefore,
was obliged to treat her with due respect, and reproaches from her
always affected him more keenly than those of any others.
To return to her rival. Her constitution was extremely delicate, as we
have seen already, and she was surrounded by those who would fain lay
bare, so to say, her hidden scars. Her apartments in the palace were
Kiri-Tsubo (the chamber of Kiri); so called from the trees that were
planted around. In visiting her there the Emperor had to pass before
several other chambers, whose occupants universally chafed when they
saw it. And again, when it was her turn to attend upon the Emperor, it
often happened that they played off mischievous pranks upon her, at
different points in the corridor, which leads to the Imperial quarters.
Sometimes they would soil the skirts of her attendants, sometimes they
would shut against her the door of the covered portico, where no other
passage existed; and thus, in every possible way, they one and all
combined to annoy her.
The Emperor at length became aware of this, and gave her, for her
special chamber, another apartment, which was in the Kôrô-Den, and
which was quite close to those in which he himself resided. It had been
originally occupied by another lady who was now removed, and thus
fresh resentment was aroused.
When the young Prince was three years old the Hakamagi[7] took place.
It was celebrated with a pomp scarcely inferior to that which adorned
the investiture of the first Prince. In fact, all available treasures were
exhausted on the occasion. And again the public manifested its
disapprobation. In the summer of the same year the Kiri-Tsubo-Kôyi
became ill, and wished to retire from the palace. The Emperor, however,
who was accustomed to see her indisposed, strove to induce her to
remain. But her illness increased day by day; and she had drooped and
pined away until she was now but a shadow of her former self. She
made scarcely any response to the affectionate words and expressions
of tenderness which her Royal lover caressingly bestowed upon her.
Her eyes were half-closed: she lay like a fading flower in the last stage
of exhaustion, and she became so much enfeebled that her mother
appeared before the Emperor and entreated with tears that she might be
allowed to leave. Distracted by his vain endeavors to devise means to
aid her, the Emperor at length ordered a Te-gruma[8] to be in readiness
to convey her to her own home, but even then he went to her apartment
and cried despairingly: "Did not we vow that we would neither of us be
either before or after the other even in travelling the last long journey of
life? And can you find it in your heart to leave me now?" Sadly and
tenderly looking up, she thus replied, with almost failing breath:--
"Since my departure for this dark journey,
Makes you so sad and lonely,
Fain would I stay though weak and weary,
And live for your sake only!"
"Had I but known this before--"
She appeared to have much more to say, but was too weak to continue.
Overpowered with grief, the Emperor at one moment would fain
accompany her himself, and at another moment would have her remain
to the end where she then was.
At the last, her departure was hurried, because the exorcism for the sick
had been appointed to take place on that evening at her home, and she
went. The child Prince, however, had been left in the Palace, as his
mother wished, even at that time, to make her withdrawal as privately
as possible, so as to avoid any invidious observations on the part of her
rivals. To the Emperor the night now became black with gloom. He
sent messenger after messenger to make inquiries, and could not await
their return with patience. Midnight came, and with it the sound of
lamentation. The messenger, who could do nothing else, hurried back
with the sad tidings of the truth. From that moment the mind of the
Emperor was darkened, and he confined himself to his private
apartments.
He would still have kept with himself the young Prince now motherless,
but there was no precedent for this, and it was arranged that he should
be sent to his grandmother for the mourning. The child, who
understood nothing, looked with amazement at the sad countenances of
the Emperor, and of those around him. All separations have their sting,
but sharp indeed was the sting in a case like this.
Now the funeral took place. The weeping and wailing mother, who
might have longed to mingle in the same flames,[9] entered a carriage,
accompanied by female mourners. The
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