The Mikado found his existence monotonous. Every action of his life was arranged in advance, and must be accomplished in accordance with the most minute etiquette. If he left the precincts of the palace, he was shut up in a superb vehicle drawn by buffaloes; but he felt suffocated in that close box, and preferred to remain on his throne. If he wished to admire the flowers in his garden beds, he must go out in company with a vast suite, and the annals of the kingdom made careful note of the event. The greater part of his time was supposed to be passed in meditation: but to tell the truth, he meditated very little; his intellect had become blunted. When he tried to think, the strangeness of the ideas that buzzed confusedly through his brain astonished him. Some of his fancies were criminal, some ludicrous. The latter amused him; but he dared not laugh, knowing that he was watched. He would then strive to bring his mind back to celestial things; but it wearied him, and he returned to his whimsical dreams. Sometimes he was seized by an irresistible desire to move about, to run and jump and leap; but that would ill comport with the silent immobility appropriate to the descendant of the Gods. One day, however,--or rather one night, the mysteriously achieved his desire. He slipped out of bed, and while all around him slept, he performed a wild dance; no one ever knew it,--at least so he thought. As he never saw anything but the bent back of his subjects, he may really have supposed that he belonged to a superior race, and that the common herd of men walked on all fours. And yet he thought that they sometimes treated him like a child. His bow and arrows were taken away, because on one occasion, while a body of delegates from the Shogun lay prostrate before his throne, he let fly an arrow at the highest dignitary among them. In spite of the rage which sometimes boiled within him, he dared not rebel; his inaction, the perpetual association with women, who alone could serve him, had weakened his courage. He felt that he was at the mercy of his ministers; he feared lest he should be assassinated. And yet, at times, an immense pride took possession of him; he felt divine blood course through his veins; he knew that the earth was not worthy to be trodden beneath his feet, that the race of men had no right to behold his face; and he dreamed of making thicker still the veils which separated him from the world. Then, the very next moment, he would fancy that perfect happiness lay in solitary rambles over the mountains, in working in the open air, in being the lowliest of men; then he would be seized by a vague despair, he would groan and bewail his fate. But he was soon persuaded that his grief was nothing but a homesick longing for heaven, his native land. Just now the Mikado was ready to receive the envoys from Fide-Yori. They had come to testify the latter's gratitude towards the supreme ruler, who had conferred the title of Shogun upon him.