With his remaining strength, poor, misjudged Gonta places a whistle to his mouth, and the true prince, with his wife and child, come at the call from their hiding-place. It is Gonta’s own wife and child who have been sacrificed. The parents realise too late what has happened, and are overwhelmed with grief, and the prince examining the garment given to Gonta discovers that part of a priest’s robe has been hidden within its folds. He takes the suggestion and puts it on, realising that the official was well aware that the head placed in front of him was not that of Koremori, and had sent this hint to the Heike prince to retire to a monastery. The dying Gonta surrounded by the now priest-prince and his wife and child, his own parents and sister, breathes his last as the curtain is drawn amid the noise of the loud clapping of two pieces of wood, which in Kabuki always signifies the end of the play. [Illustration: Jitsukawa Enjaku of Osaka as Gonta in the sacrifice play, Sembonzakura, by Takeda Izumo.] * * * * * Another scene from a loyalty play, _Sendaihagi_ (Sendai referring to former generations, and hagi, a flowering shrub), written by Matsu Kanshi for the Doll-theatre in 1784, has withstood the shocks of time so well that it may be seen many times a year on the modern stages of the three cities, Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto. It concerns a young daimyo, one of the wealthiest among the feudal lords, who led a dissolute life. The lord’s excesses were encouraged by a relative, who intrigued to have him removed from the headship of the family that he might manage the domain to his own benefit. There was a small heir, Tsurukiyo, in the way of the final completion of this dark design, and Masaoka, his faithful nurse, was ever watchful in her protection of him. The finest scene in _Sendaihagi_ is that in which Masaoka prepares the food for Tsurukiyo, for she knows that his enemies will attempt to poison him. The splendid room of a great daimyo’s ancestral mansion is a strong contrast to the meagre fare the faithful nurse prepares. At all costs she must cook the meal herself, for enemies lurk in all parts of the house, and have been given orders to kill the boy who stands in the way of the coveted inheritance. Masaoka unfolds a low gold screen, disclosing the utensils used in the tea ceremony, and slowly begins to make the meal for the little prince and her son Semmatsu, who is his playmate. The children ask when the rice will be cooked, as they are very hungry, and trying to forget the pangs of hunger they engage in play. Masaoka, busy at her work, is overcome with emotion, as she alone realises the desperate situation, and the peril which threatens Tsurukiyo. With this fear at her heart, she does not go about her task happily or briskly, but pauses now and then to weep.