Agreed to this, the Consul and the American lady go away.
Susuki is now quietly ordered to leave the room. She protests, but her mistress is firm; she wishes to be alone.
When the weeping maid has gone, b.u.t.terfly lights a lamp at the little shrine and bows before it. Then she takes from the wall a dagger, but drops this as the baby suddenly enters, shoved in by Susuki--faithful slave! who, forbidden to enter herself, thus blindly tries to frustrate b.u.t.terfly"s ominous wish to be alone.
The child rushes to its mother"s arms, and b.u.t.terfly clasps it wildly, calling it all the extravagant love-names j.a.panese fancy can devise.
""Tis for you, my love, that I am dying!"
She holds him at arm"s-length and bids him look long and well upon her face. The baby tosses his head and laughs; he little recks what she is saying:
"_Take one last look on your mother"s face, that the memory may linger._"
The tragic theme attains a grandeur now that makes it seem the apotheosis of human heartache. Through the alembic of the composer"s art this gruesome theme emerges ablaze with a terrible glory. It sweeps apast like a fiery chariot, bearing poor little b.u.t.terfly"s soul to heaven.
There is little more to record; the moment of death seems already gone through in bidding the child good-bye. What follows is done very quietly; every movement is lifeless and spiritless. She ties a bandage about the little one"s eyes, and she puts in his hand an American flag; the j.a.panese mother"s token of surrender.
Then b.u.t.terfly picks up the dagger. The deed is soon done; she totters to the floor, and with her last breath tries to reach for her baby"s hand.