cannot dream what it is to be an
artist! What one will endure for art; what one will sacrifice, and joy
in the giving! Why, woman, if with one's shed blood, with the barter
of one's soul, a single supreme vision could be realized, no true
artist would hesitate. Yes, if even wife, child, and kindred were to
be joined in a common destruction for art's sake, the artist must not
hesitate. At the thought of one's parents, the ancestors of one's
house, it might be admissible to pause, but at nothing else, nothing
else, whatever! Life is a mere bubble on the stream of art, fame is a
bubble--riches, happiness, Death itself! Would that I could tear these
old limbs into a bleeding frenzy as I paint, if by doing so one little
line may swerve the nearer to perfection! Often have I thought of this
and prayed for the opportunity, but such madness does not benefit.
Only the torn anguish of a soul may sometimes help. And with old
souls, like old trees, they do not bleed, but are snapped to earth, and
lie there rotting. He, Tatsu, the son of my adoption, could with one
strong sweep of his arm make the gods stare, and he spends his hours
fondling the perishable object of a woman, while I, who would give all,
all,--give my own child that he loves,--I remain impotent! Alas! So
topsy-turvy a world are we born in!"

He bowed his head in a misery so abject that Mata forbore to jibe. She
tried to speak again, to comfort him, but he motioned her away, and
sat, scarcely moving in his place, until the night brought Tatsu and
his young wife home again.

VIII

Thus under, as it were, a double ban of displeasure, did the new
generation of Kano, Tatsu and Ume-ko, begin life in the little cottage
beneath the hill. They were given Ume's chamber near which the plum
tree grew, an adjoining room having been previously fitted up for
Tatsu's painting. As in the other cottage, inviting rectangles of
silk, already stretched and sized, stood in blank rows against the
walls. Even the fusuma were of new paper, offering, it would seem, to
any inspired young artist, a surface of alluring possibilities.
Paints, brushes, and vessels without number made an array to tempt, if
only the tempting were not so obvious.

Ume-ko, watching closely the expression of her husband's face as he was
first led into this room, drew old Kano aside, and urged that more tact
and delicacy be used in leading Tatsu back to a desire for creative
work. She herself,