Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 41, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 January 1909 — "A LADY OF MIKADO'S COURT" [ARTICLE]

"A LADY OF MIKADO'S COURT"

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BY JESSIE M. PARTLON

Etsu had come —St. Ives firmly believed —as a psychological answer to his yearning for “color.” Her entrance was characteristic. The artist, idly sketching his thousandth * American Girl,” was startled to perceive a small, gorgeous figure wrapped in sinuous folds of gray and cherry silk, bowed in mock humility at his very feet. * “Seven devils —” exclaimed St. Ives, splashing carmine all over the “American Girl’s” haughty mouth. “Jes* me, mos, high mightiness; Etsu make ver* fine model—ver* moch need monqy!” explained the wadded sllk bundle before him. The shining black coils of hair rose from their humble position to disclose a fresh, girlish face, daintily red as to lips, Immobile as bronze. This, then, was no gift from the gods, but a commercial transaction! All the artist in St. Ives’ nature rose to the quaint, colorful little lady. Etsu, taking stupefaction for acquiescence, lifted a bundle of costumes from the floor and pattered toward the dressing room. In a second she was back. Instead of the cherry blossom silk she was swathed in a heavy kimono whose midnight luster was glorified by golden storks gravely reposing on one leg against a background of perpetually rising suns. “Etsu ver* fine lady of mikado’s court,” she said proudly, making a deep genuflection. St. Ives’ eyes took in greedily the lithe figure, the small, flower-like face, and heavy coils of scented hair. He stared till the “ver’ fine lady” became disturbed; she dropped to the floor in a pretty attitude and with childish dignity and directness said: “Lady play samisen, ver’ honorable great artist please to paint!” And so, from day to day, St. Ives reveled in color. Etsu had been posing for him for two weeks, and the studio, with its litter of East Indian bric-a-brac, ugly Chinese idols, and rare tapestries, was permeated with the faint fragrance that clung to her kimonos. To-day Etsu had arrived At tfie studio early. When he inserted his own latch key, a straflge, eerie murmuring reached his ears, and as he threw wide the door he beheld Etsu prone on her fate before an image of Buddha he had picked up in the orient She was praying softly and rapidly. Gone was the childlike naivete and Impenetrable calm of the little Japanese model. A strange exaltation breathed from every fold of her silken garments, and she hurriedly tucked her tiny flag—the emblem of Japan— Into her sleeve as she mounted the model’s throne. “Well, Etsu, 1 see by the papers your country is recalling its subjects —there’s to be war, it seems!” “Yes, august highness!” replied Etra; “the sacred one has spoken—happy who can obey!” She was strangely anxious to be gone—the day’s work was spoiled and St. Ives released her. Lifting a curtain that concealed an old cabinet to get Etsu’s customary fee, he stood appalled. The cabinet had been forced “open, papers and color, tubes lay all about, but every penny the cabinet held had vanished! Gone, too, was Etsu, and without the bit of silver for which she always waited. Ip an Instant St. Ives was half way down the stairs; a second and he gained the street. There, like an animated water color, was Etsu, two blocks away. Etsu melted into a narrow doorway of Chinatown, and still he followed. Almost at the threshold of an inner room she was met by a slender young Japanese equipped for a journey. “Did you get it?” he fairly hissed. “Quick, quick; the son of heaven calls—” “Here, Hojo!” She pressed a handful of loose bills into his outstretched hand. “Kawannon guard you and bring a glorious death.” Jostling St. Ives In the dark passage Hojo rushed forth —from her he loved to the great red death of a Japanese soldier who falls in battle fighting for the emperor. But Etsu, for whom there remained only the small white death of women and children, drew from her silken sleeve a small vial and drank deep. The pungent scent of peach kernels tilled the air. And St. Ives staggered out into the sunlight to gaze with horrified eyes on the long streamers of "Banzai” and picturesque Japanese flags that fluttered in an alien breeze.