It was a painting of Mo Hsi, the favourite princess of the ancient Chinese emperor, Chou the Cruel. Languidly she leant against a balustrade, and the bottom of her richly brocaded gown rested on the steps of the staircase leading to a garden. Her tiny head seemed almost too delicate to support the weight of her crown, which was encrusted with lapiz lazuli and coral. In her right hand she held a cup, slightly tilted, and with an indolent expression she watched a prisoner who was about to be beheaded in the garden below. Secured hand and foot to a stake, he stood there awaiting his last moment; his eyes were closed, his head bent down. Pictures of such scenes tend to vulgarity, but so skilfully had the painter portrayed the expressions of the princess and of the condemned man that this picture-scroll was a work of consummate art.
For a while the young girl fixed her gaze on the strange painting. Unconsciously her eyes began to shine and her lips trembled; gradually her face took on a resemblance to that of the young Chinese princess.
“Your spirit is reflected in that painting,” said Seikichi, smiling with pleasure as he gazed at her.
“Why have you shown me such a terrible picture?” asked the girl, passing her hand over the pale forehead.
“The woman depicted here is yourself. Her blood flows through your veins.”
Seikichi then unrolled the other scroll, which was entitled The Victims. In the centre of the picture a young woman leant against a cherry tree, gazing at a group of men’s corpses which lay about her feet; pride and satisfaction were to be discerned in her pale face. Hopping about among the corpses, a swarm of little birds chirped happily. Impossible to tell whether the picture represented a battlefield or a spring garden!
“This painting symbolizes your future,” said Seikichi, indicating the face of the young woman, which again strangely resembled that of his visitor. “The men fallen on the ground are those who will lose their lives because of you.”
“Oh, I beg you,” she cried, “put that picture away.” And
