MADAM BUTTERFLY

In a quaint little house perched at the top of a steep hill in Nagasaki, great preparations for coming festivities might have been observed one bright sunny afternoon; for within the next few hours, a young American naval officer, Lieutenant B. F. Pinkerton, was to be wedded to Cho Cho San, a pretty little geisha maid, and was even now inspecting his new abode with old Goro, the broker, who had arranged this "Japanese Marriage" for him.

For the young American, like many others of his class, had sought to relieve the monotony of his sojourn in Nagasaki by amusing himself with the pretty maids of the town; and having conceived a sudden passion for the fairest of them all, Cho Cho San, or Butterfly, as she was more generally called, whose bewitching daintiness and sweet nature had quickly enthralled his heart, he had determined to indulge his love at all costs, and for this reason had engaged the services of Goro.

The old marriage broker, delighted at having secured such a desirable client, to whom dollars seemed of little count, assured the eager lover that the matter was quite an easy one to arrange; and not only did he undertake to draw up the marriage contract (which, however, could be annulled monthly!), and to assemble the relations and necessary legal officials, but also secured for him a house in which to spend this blissful dream, a nest which he well knew would sooner or later be deserted.

And so well had Goro managed his commission, that the "marriage" was successfully arranged, and about to take place; and now, as Pinkerton followed the obsequious old broker from room to room of the charming retreat that had been prepared for his pleasure, he was delighted with everything he saw, admiring the wonderful mechanical contrivances by which the building could be altered according to fancy, and praising his guide for his careful work. For Goro had forgotten nothing, not even the Japanese servants, whom he presently introduced to their new master; nor the wedding guests, the relations of pretty Butterfly, who were expected to shortly appear for the ceremony.

Just as Pinkerton was beginning to tire of the old broker's loquacity, the first of the wedding guests arrived. This was Sharpless, the American Consul, who had come in his official capacity, and also as the friend and compatriot of the bridegroom. He was an older man than Pinkerton, for whom, however, he had much affection; so much, indeed, that he had come with the intention of persuading his friend to abandon this Japanese so-called "marriage," knowing that little real happiness was likely to come of it. Although he had not actually seen the little bride, he had heard her speaking when she called the day before at the Consulate about her marriage, and had been so impressed by the thrilling charm of her voice that he was persuaded she regarded this step with intense seriousness, not as a mere temporary amusement; and in his own large-hearted tenderness, it pained him to think that one so fragile and innocent should be called upon to suffer when the awakening should come.

He therefore seriously asked Pinkerton to reflect again before he entered into this connection, of which he would doubtless quickly tire and have no compunctions in severing, since it seemed that the Japanese maiden's love was so deep that she believed her future husband would regard their marriage as a binding one; and with sincere earnestness, he besought his young friend not to gratify what was to him a mere passing fancy, at the expense of bruising the wings of this trusting little Butterfly. Pinkerton, however, impatiently refused to listen to his friend's counsel, for he had no compunctions himself as to the course he was pursuing, which was one frequently practised by others of his class with no serious consequences, since the deserted little Japanese "wives" were afterwards usually contented to accept new husbands of their own race; and gaily assuring the prudent Consul that no harm was likely to come of his pleasure, he ran to greet his little bride, who at this moment appeared on the open terrace, accompanied by a bevy of merry girl friends.

A veritable little butterfly in appearance was Cho Cho San, sweet and dainty as a freshly-opened flower bud; sunny-hearted and gay, yet full of quaint and thoughtful fancies; childish, fragile and fairy-like, yet possessing a woman's heart, pure, true, and capable of a deep and abiding passion. She had bestowed this treasure of love upon the handsome Pinkerton with childish and implicit trust; and her belief in his professed love for her was so intense that she never gave a single thought to the future possibility of his affection waning, but considered herself the happiest girl in all Japan.

She now greeted him with bright smiles, introducing him with pride to her friends; and then, with simple artlessness, she began to prattle merrily to the two Americans, telling them of her family history, how her mother was poor, and how she herself had been obliged to become a geisha to earn a living. When asked about her father, she grew suddenly sad, and merely stated that he was dead; but later on they learnt that he had met his death bravely by "Hara-kiri," a sword having been sent to him by the Mikado with a message to despatch himself. Presently, Butterfly herself, when asking Pinkerton's permission to retain a few girlish treasures she had brought with her, showed him this very sword, which she revered as her greatest possession. As a further proof of her perfect trust in her future husband, she now whispered in his ear the startling fact that she had the day before visited the Christian mission-house, to adopt his faith, having been willing for his sake to renounce her old religion, a fact which, if known to her relations, would cause them to regard her as an outcast.

By this time, the relations who had been bidden to the wedding had arrived; and a motley enough group of undesirables they were in the eyes of Pinkerton, who, however, received them graciously, accepting their flowery compliments with gay good-nature. The Registrar and Commissioner having also arrived, the wedding took place without further delay, being concluded in a few minutes, the ceremony merely consisting of the reading of the marriage contract by the Commissioner, and the signing of the same by the bride and bridegroom.

This simple proceeding over, the guests crowded round to congratulate the happy pair, and having wished the young American good luck, Sharpless and the other officials took their leave at once. Pinkerton now tried to rid himself of the wedding guests, longing to be left alone with his dainty little bride; but this he found to be a very difficult matter, for the impecunious relations of the pretty Butterfly had come with the intention of enjoying themselves to the full at the expense of the rich American, and were not to be deprived of such a treat. Finding this to be the case, Pinkerton resigned himself to the inevitable; and, inviting the expectant guests to the refreshment tables, he plied them lavishly with wines, sweetmeats, and all the fanciful Japanese delicacies that had been provided by the ingenious Goro, encouraging their unrestrained greed in the hope that satiety would shortly bring about the fulfilment of his desires.

Just as the hilarity was at its height, however, there came an unexpected interruption; for suddenly an uncouth individual of weird aspect burst in amongst the guests, wildly brandishing his arms, and uttering cries of furious rage. This unwelcome intruder was Butterfly's most important uncle, a Bonze, or Japanese priest, who, having by some means learnt of his niece's visit to the hated Christian mission, had now come to denounce her for her apostasy; and, alarmed at the threatening aspect of one whom they held in awe, the guests drew back in frightened groups. Butterfly, in fear and trembling, also tried to crouch from the sight of her outraged relative; but the Bonze sought her out, and ruthlessly declaring to the relations that she had of her own free will renounced them all and forsaken the religion of her forefathers, he furiously called down curses upon her, in which he was immediately joined by the now angry guests, in whose eyes such an offence was unpardonable.

Pinkerton had at first laughed at the extravagant speeches and ridiculous gesticulations of the weird-looking Bonze; but when the relations took up the denunciation also, he grew angry, and unceremoniously turned them all out of the house.

As the imprecations of the departing guests died away in the distance, poor little Butterfly buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears; but Pinkerton folded her in his arms, and soon succeeded in restoring her to smiles and joyousness once more.

"I do not mind anything, if you will only love me!" she said, as she kissed his hand with quaint humility. "Though they have cast me off, yet am I full of joy! I am with you; and you are my people and my life!"

Night had now closed in, and as they presently wandered out together on to the moonlit terrace, Pinkerton folded his fair bride in his arms in a passionate embrace; and in that moment of ecstasy, the lovers felt that the world was indeed well lost.

A period of intense happiness now followed; but, alas! it was but a short one. For Pinkerton's love for his little Japanese wife, though passionate at the time, was, as Sharpless had declared, but a passing phase; and when, after a few months had drifted pleasantly by in this pretty dream, his ship had received orders to return to America, he had departed with little real regret. For he did not intend to return to the nest he was now deserting for ever; and in his careless way he felt no compunctions, for he believed that the pretty Butterfly would as easily forget him, and eventually take unto herself a Japanese husband. Yet to ease the pain of his departure, he promised the weeping girl that he would return to her when the robins began to nest; and Butterfly, believing implicitly in this promise, was satisfied, and daily declared to her faithful maid and sole companion, Suzuki, who had no such trusting faith, that this happy event would certainly come to pass.

Later on, when a fair, blue-eyed baby boy was born to her, she rejoiced at the little one's birth the more because of the additional pleasure she felt was in store for the surely-returning father; and even when three years had passed since her wedding-day, and no word had yet come from the faithless Pinkerton, she still hoped and waited patiently, confident that her hopes would be realised. It was quite useless for the handmaid, Suzuki, whose knowledge of such "marriages" was wider, to suggest to her mistress that her hope was a vain one; for the trusting little Butterfly would only grow angry, and refuse to listen to her.

But, at last, the money which Pinkerton had left for their temporary support (thinking that they would soon be established in some other household) became exhausted; and now, towards the end of the third year, they found themselves within a few coins of destitution. Even on the day when this sad discovery was made, the deserted little bride bid her handmaid not to trouble, since the waiting-time would now soon be over; and rousing herself up to a transport of happy expectation, she reminded Suzuki of Pinkerton's promise to return when the robins should nest, and carried away by her eager thoughts, began to describe the arrival of the expected ship, from which her beloved husband would most assuredly land and hasten to her side.

But Suzuki, knowing that the robins had already nested several times since the young officer's departure, only muttered gloomily that it was not known for a Western husband to return to a Japanese nest; but when on hearing this Butterfly sprang up with eyes blazing with anger, to soothe and comfort her once more the faithful handmaid repeated the eager girl's own hopeful words.

Whilst they were thus talking, a visitor suddenly appeared; and to the delight of Butterfly, this proved to be none other than Sharpless, the American Consul, who had come on a very difficult mission. For he had just received a message from Pinkerton, who was returning at last to Nagasaki, and whose ship was expected to arrive that very day; and in this letter the young lieutenant announced that he was now married to a beautiful American lady, and asked his old friend to seek out the pretty Butterfly, and if she still remembered him, to break this news as gently as he could.

Butterfly received the Consul with joy; and on hearing that he had a letter from Pinkerton, she clapped her hands and became very excited, declaring that her hopes were about to be realised, and that her beloved husband was really returning to her, as she had never for a moment doubted, or ceased to believe. Her eager anticipation and childish delight quite unmanned the tender-hearted Sharpless, who now saw only too plainly how right he had been when warning Pinkerton that the Japanese maiden regarded their marriage as a binding one, and that her love was a deep and abiding passion, the very breath of life to her; and though he essayed many times to explain his cruel mission, his efforts to do so were quite in vain. For, upon every sentence he read from the letter, Butterfly put her own happy construction, finding in each line an imaginary message of hope for herself; and so vivid was her delusion, that Sharpless despaired of ever making her realise the fatal truth.

He was therefore somewhat relieved by the unexpected appearance of old Goro, the marriage broker, who brought with him Prince Yamadori, a wealthy Japanese suitor, whom he had for a long time past tried vainly to induce the deserted wife to accept as a husband, for one so young and pretty was still a tempting prize to offer to his amorous clients. Yamadori had now come to plead his own cause with the obdurate Butterfly, who, however, still refused to listen to him; and, full of indignation, she turned to Sharpless, and cried "You hear what he and that wicked Goro wish me to do! How can I marry him, when I have a beloved husband already, who is now returning to claim me once again?"

Even when Goro, eager to secure her for his wealthy client, reminded her that in Japan desertion constituted divorce, and that she was therefore perfectly free to marry again, she was not to be convinced, but declared scornfully: "But the law of Japan is not the law of my husband's country!"

Seeing that argument was useless in her present state, old Goro and his disappointed client withdrew, hoping for better success on their next visit; and when they had gone, Sharpless, distressed beyond measure at the poor girl's absolute blindness to the fact that Pinkerton had really deserted her, and that he had never even regarded his marriage with her in a serious light at all, but merely as a pleasant interlude made possible by the easy law of Japan, again tried to tell her the real reason for his visit. Having once more dismally failed in this, he next tried to persuade her to accept the wealthy Japanese suitor who desired to make her his bride; but such a suggestion coming from one she trusted so deeply wounded her that he did not venture to press the point.

As the final strengthening of her argument, and crowning proof of the utter uselessness of trying to persuade her that she was forgotten, Butterfly ran to fetch her bonny baby boy, and, holding him up before the eyes of the amazed Consul, who had no idea of the child's existence, cried with passionate pride: "Do you think he could forget this proof of our love?"

Sharpless, knowing that Pinkerton had no knowledge that a son had been born to him, was now so overcome with deep emotion that he could scarcely control his feelings of pity for the deserted little Japanese wife; and, utterly unable to reveal the truth to her just then, he hastily took his leave, inwardly railing at his friend for entrusting him with such an impossible mission.

No sooner had the Consul departed than the roar of cannon was heard from the harbour; and, hurrying to the terrace, Butterfly discovered that this was a salute to an arriving ship, which, to her indescribable joy, she saw was flying the American flag, and by the aid of a telescope made out its name to be the Abraham Lincoln, which she knew to be Pinkerton's vessel. Full of delirious joy, and feeling fully convinced that her beloved one would now without doubt be with her in an hour or two's time, she called to Suzuki, and bade her to quickly bring in the fairest flowers from the garden, that she might adorn the little home with garlands in honour of the master's return.

Though Suzuki had still no belief that the young American would return, she went in haste to gather the flowers, in order to humour her beloved mistress; and as quickly as she brought the lovely fragrant blooms into the house, Butterfly placed them in every available space, calling continually for more, until each room was a perfect bower of roses, violets, lilies, and blossoms of every kind the garden could produce.

Having even strewed sweet-scented petals lavishly upon the floors, Butterfly next dressed her baby in his finest clothes, and arrayed herself in her wedding garments; and then, calling Suzuki, and making three holes in the shoshi, the three settled down to watch for Pinkerton's approach. Many hours passed, and still the expected visitor did not appear; and when darkness set in, Suzuki and the child, tired out with watching, fell fast asleep. But Butterfly would not sleep; and all through the long weary night, she kept a constant watch, never losing hope, but still believing that her beloved one would surely come.

When daylight dawned, Suzuki awakened, and, shocked at her poor little mistress's tired looks, insisted that she should retire to her chamber to rest; and Butterfly, now overcome with fatigue, and wishing to look well when her eagerly expected husband should arrive, was at last persuaded to retire.

When she had departed to the little chamber upstairs, Suzuki, having seen that the little boy was playing happily outside, returned to the flower-decked room, and sank upon her knees before the image of Buddha to pray for her mistress's comfort. Whilst she was thus engaged, there came a gentle tap at the door; and upon opening it, she admitted, to her amazement, not only Sharpless, but Pinkerton also, who, after hearing of the Consul's unavailing visit of the day before, had now come with his friend to seek advice thus early in the morning from the faithful handmaid as to a means of acquainting the expectant Butterfly with the true position of affairs.

Suzuki, thinking for the moment that Pinkerton had indeed returned to claim his little Japanese wife, received him gladly, telling him of Butterfly's preparations for his arrival, and of her trust in him and eager longing for his arrival, each word of which was as a knife in the heart of the now remorseful Pinkerton, who at last realised the cruelty of his conduct, and was filled with grief at the pain he was about to inflict upon the gentle heart of one who loved him so truly and deeply.

The handmaid, however, was quickly undeceived upon observing a tall and beautiful lady waiting in the garden; and upon learning from Sharpless that this was the "real" wife of Pinkerton, she fell to the ground, overcome by this realisation of her fears. The kindly Consul gently raised her, and explaining that Mrs. Pinkerton had come to offer protection and care for the helpless baby boy, that his future welfare might be assured, begged her to assist them in this matter by all the means in her power.

Pinkerton, who had been wandering round the flower-decked room, noting with increased emotion the many signs of Butterfly's deep love for him, now declared that he could not bear the anguish of meeting her, and rushed away, leaving the Consul to perform his painful task alone; and as he departed, full of remorse and grief, his wife entered from the garden.

Kate Pinkerton was a beautiful and kind-hearted woman, and the Japanese girl's sad story had filled her with great pity; and she also added her entreaties that Suzuki would help them to be of service to her poor little mistress.

Whilst they were discussing this matter, Butterfly was heard calling from the chamber above; and having heard the sound of voices, she immediately afterwards appeared, full of excitement, and expecting to greet her husband. At the sight of Kate, she stopped short, gazing intently upon her; and though no word was spoken, she knew instinctively that this was the woman for whose sake she herself had been cast aside.

Sharpless now expected an outburst of passionate reproach; but to the surprise of all, Butterfly remained quite calm, and bore this sudden shattering of all her cherished hopes with a quiet dignity, so touching that all were moved. When Kate entreated forgiveness for the pain she had so unconsciously been the means of bringing upon her, she answered gently that she only wished that every happiness might be showered upon her. Then, when asked to give up her baby boy to the guardianship of his father, that his future welfare and prosperity might be assured, she promised quietly that Pinkerton should have his child if he would himself come for him in half an hour's time; and having thus succeeded in their mission, Kate and Sharpless departed, unable to bear any longer the heart-rending sight of such resigned suffering.

When they had gone, Butterfly dismissed Suzuki, and, taking down her father's sword, which she had always carefully cherished, with great reverence kissed the blade. For now that she at last realised the terrible truth that Pinkerton was her husband no longer, and that for his own good she must part with her child also, she had no further desire for life; and as she lifted the sword, she murmured broken-heartedly to herself: "If I can no longer live with honour, at least I can die with honour!"

At that moment, the door was opened to admit the baby boy, who was pushed gently within by Suzuki; and, dropping the sword, Butterfly rushed forward, and clasped her child in her arms in a last passionate embrace.

Then, laying him carefully upon the ground, she suddenly seized the sword once more, and plunged it into her bosom.

When, a little later, Pinkerton entered the room to claim fulfilment of her promise, Butterfly was lying motionless and still; and the faithful heart that had loved him with such true devotion was at rest for ever!