CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER I.
BOY
AND GIRL.It was towards the end of the
fourteenth century that the grandeur of the Hojo family rose to its
acme, then fell with awful crash. The feudal story of the Land of the
Rising Sun is a long dark chronicle of blood and tears, of crime and
rapine, of vengeance and vendetta, out of which there glints at
intervals a gleam of glorious heroism, of holy devotion, of pure love
and unsullied faith.In the stately roll of the
great names of old Japan, there is none so terrible as Hojo. From
time to time the patient people were ruled by one race or another of
despots, cruel and selfish; the most cruel of all, the Hojos. Even
now, after five hundred years of war and havoc, of vain aspirations,
power misused, and wrecked ambitions, mothers still hush their babes
to silence by breathing the dreaded name. The most destructive insect
that ravages the fairest island in the world--the most voracious and
omnivorous--is yet known as the Hojo beetle. When the first of the
line erected a strong fortress--the Castle of Tsu, which will serve
as background to many scenes in this our chronicle--he gave to it a
bloody baptism, by burying beneath the foundations two hundred living
men. Although their baleful course was marked by an ensanguined
streak like a gory finger drawn across a map, they were not all
black, these gruesome daimios, or even Buddha, whom we know to be
deaf, and prone to somnolence, would earlier in the day have
bestirred himself to punish them. Maybe Buddha drinks too much saké,
for though we piously crack our finger-joints, and beat our palms,
each morn at sunrise, and bang the gongs and pull the bell-strings
each evening in the temple, he recks little of mere mundane worries,
letting things go from bad to worse in grievous fashion. And yet,
once roused to wakefulness, his vengeance is swift as the typhoon, as
destructive and as sweeping.No. The lurid Hojo cloud that
for a hundred years brooded over long-suffering Japan, had silver
breaks in it. The Mikados, as nominal rulers, dwelt at Kiŷoto; while
the Shoguns, as military viceroys, reigned at Kamakura; but the
dominating family, as wire-pullers, directed their movements from
behind. The father of Hojo No-Kami, last of the race, had his good
points. None of his supercilious ancestors was more superbly
overbearing, more sublimely indifferent to human pain; and yet his
worst enemies were compelled to admit that, if stern, his rule was
sagacious. The Mikado, and his court of
kugés or
lords-in-waiting, shivered before him, for his dirk was loose in the
scabbard, and the order promptly to depart into another world by
uncompromising
harakiri was ever
trembling on his lips. During his career three emperors had been
summoned to shave their heads and retire into monkish solitude, each
puppet bowled over in its turn for daring to dispute his will; and
yet the very fact of his disdaining to mask the iron hand under the
glove of silk, even in dealing with the highest, compelled the
unwilling admiration of his turbulent and light-hearted countrymen.The upper class--Samurai,
two-sword men, hatamotos, soldiers--could appreciate his martial
bearing, as, in gallant bravery of scarlet armour and gold-studded
helm, he rode forth to battle, with his martial wife beside him. For
the beautiful Tomoyé was a fit mother for lion whelps. Of great
personal strength as well as graceful carriage, sheathed in armour
like her lord, astride on a swift horse, she was ever in the van of
conflict. With her own hand she cut off the head of a rival daimio
who crossed swords with her; and when her lord died, pierced through
the heart by an arrow she fought till she fell beside him. The lower
class of the unarmed--mechanics, mere farmers, paltry
merchants--could also from their inferior standpoint admire their
ruler, whilst grieving at his rough treatment of the Holy
Mikado--mystic head of all--for he protected the workers of the hive
from the depredations of other tyrants. The burthen of taxes was
nicely weighed to suit the backs of the bearers. The ken of the Hojo
was as piercing, and minutely attentive to details, as it was
farsighted. A petition from the elders of the meanest village was
sure of immediate attention. No petty feudal master, however
recklessly bold or savagely contemptuous, dared to overstep his
rights.The result of the adamantine
rule of the last Hojo but one was peace. The land that was given over
usually to turmoil and bloodshed, with intervals of complete anarchy,
enjoyed rest for fifteen years, during which the despot set himself
to consolidate his power, and fix yet more firmly the family yoke on
the necks of lords and people.He had two sons, the elder of
whom--by Japanese paradox--was treated as if he had been the younger.
Sampei, three years older than No-Kami, was the offspring of a second
wife or concubine. The latter, heir-apparent, was the whelp of the
war-queen Tomoyé. Now in Japan concubinage is a recognised
institution, and the son of the handmaid is no bastard. And yet the
child of the bondwoman is not co-heir with the child of the free. The
latter, in the case of a great family, is undisputed head of the
clan, and to him the former owes allegiance, however much older in
years, in the same degree as lesser clansmen. The institution is so
firmly welded into the constitution of the land as, save in a few
cases, to preclude jealousy.Of course, as in all Eastern
countries, ambitious men have striven to supplant their
brothers--have hacked off their heads and reigned in their stead--but
this does not affect the principle. The two sons of Hojo grew up side
by side in perfect amity. Together they learned to ride and wield the
sword and spear under the approving gaze of their martial parents.
They were both soldiers--with a difference. Even Tomoyé was forced
to admit that of the twain Sampei, son of the concubine, was the most
promising. His nature was clear and bright as running water, simple
and unsmirched, unlike that of the heir-apparent. None more brave
than he, more quick and skilful with his weapons, more ready to smite
hard and heavily; and yet on occasion he could be soft and tender as
a woman. A polished politeness and chivalrous demeanour were so
innate in him as to win the admiration of the ladies. For seductive
luxury he had nothing but contempt. No-Kami, on the other hand, if
brave and skilled in arms, was fierce and selfish and debauched;
overfond of the harem and perfumed bath and saké cup; sullen, too,
as an ill-conditioned animal; brutal to women, ruthlessly tossing
them aside like shattered toys when sated with their charms. People
nodded their pates and whispered of him the timeworn proverb which
says that there is no seed to a great man. In sooth it has ever been
a common thing in this otherwise favoured land to see a great house
crumble into speedy ruin through the supineness and debauchery of its
sons.There was no need for anxiety
as to the future of Sampei. A soldier and a gentleman to the tips of
his trim finger-nails, his career, in the most war-ridden of
countries, was carved clear before him. It came to pass that Corea,
conquered long since by the Amazon Empress Jingo, threw off
allegiance.. Who more fitted than doughty young Sampei to reduce the
rebel to obedience? Accordingly, five years before this story opens,
the gay young general, full of life and hope, and rippling with high
spirits, bade a respectful farewell to the father he was never to see
again, a more tender one of his fond mother, Masago, who, like many
another discarded concubine, was now the Abbess of a convent, and
sailed with a fleet and army for Corea, whence news arrived from time
to time, praising his deeds of valour.As for the future of No-Kami,
it was more difficult to prophesy, and his parents were no little
anxious. His prospects were splendid; but although his father had
endeavoured to foresee contingencies, and build barriers against
accidents, the path of the next tyrant must needs be beset with
thorns. His rôle
in the future would be arduous, thick strewn with snares and
difficulties. To keep the
entourage of the
Mikado in subjection--to hold the daimios--powerful and wealthy
princes as sturdy as the barons of the English John--in the requisite
condition of meekness, would require more statecraft, diplomacy, and
force of iron will, than could be expected of a model youth. And
No-Kami, as we have seen, was by no means a model youth. None knew
better than his astute and experienced parent how difficult to a
young man this task would prove; none was more distinctly aware of
the frail tenure of a despot's life. At any moment he, the father,
might be taken, and what then would happen to his boy?Treachery stalks through the
history of Japan. At any instant the dominant Hojo might be murdered
under his son's eyes. Would the self-indulgent No-Kami be prepared
with vigorous promptitude to avenge the slain, and, seizing the
dropped reins, pursue his policy? Both father and mother sadly shook
their heads. Even their partial vision could not but perceive that
the hope of the house was a leper, abnormally sinful, inclined to
become a sybarite. Was this young man to be left to steer the bark
without a pilot? Certainly not. In case of anything unexpected
arising, a staff must be prepared for him to lean upon. A man must be
placed by his side, old in years and in experience, whose position
and wisdom would command respect, whose interest it would be to
bestow sound advice and timely sage reproof.What better guide than a
prudent father-in-law? What surer loadstone to lure an embryo
debauchee from the muddy byways of low company than a beautiful
patrician bride? one of the pure and slender, refined and high-bred
maidens of noble lineage--fair and sweet as the fragrant
mountain-lily--who now, as five hundred years ago, are the brightest
glory of Japan.A crafty combination this on
the part of the warrior-statesman, which would doubtless have been
crowned with success, if he had not chanced to live in a world where
mischievous spirits delight in frustrating plans the most cleverly
matured. Tomoyé heard, and listened dubiously. Even among the most
elevated Japanese, as well as in the highest European circles, papas
and mammas will differ as to the ideal bride. What was the precise
article that would suit No-Kami? Unfortunately there was not time to
have one specially ordered. Since perfection is chary of repetition,
it was not to be expected that another Tomoyé--a stern yet loving
lioness--could be found for the precious youth. Indeed, so recreant a
scion was he of the stock, that he might have objected possibly to a
muscular and fiery wife whose pastime was the chopping of heads. And
yet not so. A true lion-whelp was he in blood enjoyment. Even the
low-born Geisha
singing girls who stocked his harem, had often cried under his
buffets, and shouted shame, with tears, at his barbarous treatment of
his servants.Alas! how sad it is that even
the most sapient in mundane experience will be guilty of errors
sometimes that are patent to the lesser fry. Is it over-anxiety that
blinds them? The problem was to put the finger on a great
noble--daimio among daimios--who could compare in descent and
grandeur almost
with the line of Hojo; who, of weight in counsel, and rather cool
than hot, would stem precipitate rashness. He must have no son, and
but one daughter, and devoid therefore of the ambition which
accompanies male issue, must adopt his daughter's husband as his son;
and by thus uniting the two families in closest bonds, make their
interests identical. The child of the magnate (given that the two
were found) must be mentally perfect, and a vision of corporeal
loveliness."My dear!" quoth the
broad-shouldered but practical Tomoyé, as with one eye critically
closed she assayed the temper of a brand new sword. The lady was apt
to get vexed when her lord grew warm and garrulous. "My dear,"
she observed, "we have many rounds of mortal life to climb ere,
reaching the summit, we attain Nirvana. Though you are good enough to
be blind to my blemishes, even I am not quite perfect. Perfection, in
our present low cycle, is so very scarce, you know." With this
she beamed upon her lord, whilst artlessly belying her words by
approvingly fingering her muscles. She was inwardly aware, with
pardonable pride, that no other daimio's daughter could boast such an
arm as hers.My lord was provoked, and
rubbed his nose. When you are erecting airy towers, practical people
are exasperating. It was evident she had gained a point, so she
proceeded to follow it up."Where in broad Japan do
you propose to seek these paragons? This pink of perfect daimios, and
his yet more model child?"There was a tendency to
irreverence in this tone, which required nipping in the bud. The eye
of the Mikado's master shot forth a gleam, before which even the
lioness cowered. When his mind was made up, the Hojo brooked no
argument."Be it as you will!"
Tomoyé dutifully murmured. "My lord is all-wise, all-powerful;
his wife his willing slave. Go forth and seek the paragons, and let
us hope you will find them soon."To please him whom she loved
best on earth, Tomoyé made believe to be convinced; and yet her
woman's tact whispered down in the deep recesses of her manly bosom,
that my lord, for all his wiliness, was wrong; that he was building a
fool's paradise far up in Œther, out of which her dear boy might
tumble.Curious to relate, the
paragons concerning whom she was tempted to be disrespectful were not
far to seek. With but little hocus-pocus father and daughter were
conjured on the scene, as absolutely the "very thing," to
all appearance, as the cunning Hojo had conceived them. He declared
as much at least, and dutiful Tomoyé acquiesced, slightly pinching
her lips in silent protest. Instead of the "very thing"
which was to bring about complete success before its time in our
weary pilgrimage of cycles, the mother's instinct beheld with
prophetic vision, in the proposed alliance, the worst elements of
discord and defeat,--of so dire and dread a tragedy as should shake
Japan to its centre, and annihilate the dominating house. Yet who was
she, the warrior wife reflected in her humility, to set up puny
instincts against the ripened statecraft of my lord? Her muscles were
better than her brains. Should she presume to know more than he who
held in his hand Mikado, nobles, people?--whose nod was law in the
land beloved of Buddha? who had preserved it from contamination from
without? Her place was to bend before the will of the dictator, and
offer prayers for her husband and her son.*
* * * *The most perfectly poetic spot
in all poetic Japan, whose ensanguined history is made beauteous to
the eye of a fastidious posterity by the flora of chivalry and
valour, is Nara.Lovely and secluded,
sweet-smelling and umbrageous Nara! The Nara of to-day--how much more
the Nara of five hundred years ago--suggests to the incursive
foreigner a bit of Eden's garden.In very early times the
central mart of Japanese opulence (which ebbed by-and-by to Kiŷoto),
it came after a while to be recognised as the special home of
holiness. Accepting the better part, it exchanged the shimmering sham
glory of mundane ambition for the sheen reflected from above. Some
twenty miles from Kiŷoto--time-honoured residence of Mikados, and
therefore a sacred city--the small town of Nara stands on a plain
surrounded by rugged hills. Passing through low grey streets, leaving
on the left a huge and ornate pagoda, you enter a tangle of wild
greenery--an ideal wood of immense cryptomerias darkling skyward
after light. A jungle of variegated foliage, so sweet and fresh,
masks half their altitude, while the undulating ground beneath is
broken into verdant waves chequered with blossoms of all hues. This
forest is vast and silent, save where a white-robed group of pilgrims
saunters along its glades--undefended by barriers, save those of
religious custom. And what more tough than they? If sprightly and
given to skull-cracking, the Japanese live in terror of their
deities, who without exception are vindictive. Buddha and the lesser
lights are awful and threatening and ever-present, and the favourite
hunting-grounds of Buddha are the hallowed groves of Nara.The thickets teem with game.
All kinds of coy animals which usually flee at sight of man, here
hold undisputed sway. The intruder is on their territory, and they
let him know it. The timorous doe stands with soft unstartled eyes
across the path, sniffing with moist nostrils the expected cake. And
if the white-clad pilgrim should have striven to combine economy with
cure of soul by investing in cheap offerings, the scornful stag and
his following will shake their ears, and bound away to relate to the
gods the insult. With head on one side, birds look critically down
from boughs, nor think of flight; hares, taught by impunity, instead
of making off, white scut in air, groom nose with paw, undaunted.Hidden away, centre of an
intricate labyrinth--enclosed in many courts, each hung with myriad
lamps in bronze-like fringes round the eaves--stands the Holy of
Holies, Buddha's hunting-box, wherein a band of virgins perform weird
shinto rites for the behoof of awe-struck pilgrims. At stated seasons
this bevy of priestesses, emerging from strict retirement, performs
the kagura,
a slow swanlike measure, with many and intricate figures and waving
of fans and bells and kerchiefs, accompanied by priestly
flutes--which (doubtless good for the soul, since its weary length is
interminable) is soothing also to ear and eye, for the ladies are
graceful and slender in their loose red trousers and gossamer robes,
their long locks flowing as they float to and fro, with a background
of gold screens, and beyond the antique forest. How peaceful a life,
free from sordid cares, must these holy damsels lead! Far from the
fretful striving of the churlish world--its hate and jealousy and
bitterness and disillusion--no call to arms or shock of war invades
this calm retreat. They share ungrudgingly their Eden with the beasts
and butterflies, guileless and content as they, strumming the
three-stringed samisen, sailing through maze of solemn
kagura, doing
tender service in the temple.Among the troop of maidens was
one who wore no religious habit. Although she had taken no vows,
priests and virgins loved her as much as if one of themselves.
Brought up among them with the hares and birds for comrades, as
stately and as gentle as the deer, she shared from childhood, being
motherless, their pure and contemplative life. Strangers often said
that the fairest thing in lovely Nara was the tall and pale O'Tei.
Some compared her to the unblown white lotos as it sways dreamily in
the breeze. Others dubbed her pearl; but later all agreed that young
Sanjo the armourer was delivered of the neatest simile when he
fashioned a white fawn of purest silver and gave it to the maiden for
a hairpin. As a child she had always been still and given to
day-dreams, peering into the flowers as if she could read secrets
there, or gazing into the opal sky in search of angels, or watching
the pallid stars as they glimmered forth out of the deepening blue.
Yet was she as gay as the chirping cicadas in the trees, as light and
fleet as her four-footed friends, as, pattering on dainty clogs in
wayward mood, she would leave the forest for the town, and peeping in
at Sanjo's, shake an arch finger at the brawny armourers, while they
wiped their swart brows, and laughed.It was by a whimsical
coincidence that the celebrated family of Sanjo, from time immemorial
armourers in chief to the Mikados, as the Miochins were to the
Shoguns, should have set up the forge, emblem of war, hard by the
sacred wood, the type of peace. But so it was. Indeed, as I write,
the existing Sanjos occupy the ancestral dwelling. They are poor now.
Their occupation is gone, for civilisation and European ways have
stepped in and ruined them. At the period which occupies us, the
blowing of the forge-bellows and the welding of iron on the anvil
were in curious contrast to the surrounding calm. Many lords who came
hither in pilgrim guise to improve their soul's estate, looked in at
Sanjo's ere they went away, to buy new blades and armour. The holy
forest was an oasis of peace in a world of uproar; for was not the
castle of the powerful lord of Nara but a mile beyond the town; and
did not close by (happily concealed by a hill from his proud gaze)
the fortress of the Daimio of Osaka rear its majestic front, home of
his hereditary foe? Of course it was enough for two great feudal
lords to dwell cheek by jowl for them to hate one another cordially.
These two were as jealous as two rival beauties. The outer moat at
Nara was wider than that of my lord of Osaka, but then the interior
of Osaka's stronghold was the more splendid, and its armoury more
richly furnished. Hence frowns and jibes and backbitings from
generation to generation, varied now and then by siege or battle,
accompanied by fire and massacre.Among the many who were firm
friends of the Sanjos, was, naturally enough, Sampei. Of course, so
gallant a young gentleman could wear no armour but Sanjo's, could
wield no sword but one that bore his mark. One morning, standing
beside the anvil, and laying down the law to an obsequious audience,
on military subjects, he beheld, framed in the doorway, such a
delightful vision, that his heart gave a great thump, and he dropped
the precious blade, whose temper he was critically testing by the
bisecting of a coin. It was only for a second. Startled by the
apparition of a distinguished stranger, and grown unaccountably
bashful of a sudden, the blushing and beautiful O'Tei cried Oh! and,
turning on her clogs, scampered back into the wood, whither the
inflammable Sampei would swiftly have followed, had he not been
restrained by the armourer."Beware!" the latter
whispered, grasping him tightly by the skirt. "That maid is not
for thee! The heiress of the Daimio of Nara will look higher than a
soldier of fortune!"Sampei laughed, to conceal his
annoyance. It is exasperating and humiliating too, to a handsome
young soldier, who as such adores the sex, to be bluntly informed
that the loveliest girl whom he has ever looked upon is hopelessly
out of reach. And yet he could not deny that his friend was right.
The White Fawn of Nara might never be his, for one so noble and so
fair could command the most splendid of
partis. But was
that any reason why he should not look at her? He was heartwhole. No
doubt of that. His soul was devoted to his sword; but, as dashing
young warriors have done time out of mind, he liked to dally with
maidens, and the prettier they were the better. Instead of purchasing
a blade and departing straightway, he all at once became fastidious.
This one was too light; that one ill-balanced.Japan is the land of blades.
From the tail of the Dragon was born the sword which the Sun-goddess
bestowed on the first Emperor. By the sword of the clustering clouds,
Yamato-Daké subdued the East. It was quite fitting that our young
general should be particular. Sanjo produced in vain his rarest
achievements. There was "Knee-cutter" and "Beard-divider,"
unrivalled masterpieces, which Sanjo himself so loved that he had
always declined to part with them. But there was no satisfying this
capricious and arrogant youth. Sanjo would be good enough to set
himself to work and create an inspiration; and Sampei, to whom time
had all at once become no object, would remain at Nara and
superintend the progress of the miracle. And so it came about that
the blade, taking long to make, O'Tei (curious, after the fashion of
maidens) came pattering along the street, just to see if the young
warrior was gone. Oddly enough, he was still there; with face towards
the door too. This was well, if strange; for he was comely; extremely
civil, to boot; courteous, and vastly respectful; could troll rich
snatches of merry song, and tell diverting tales with dancing eye and
glittering teeth; while as for his smile, it did one good to bask
under it--so bright it was, so warm and genial, exuberant with
bubbling youth.The brawny workers at the
anvil vowed with grins and nudges that 'twas charming to watch these
two--she, the type of the patrician beauty of her country--complexion
of palest olive, nose aquiline, cheek bones a trifle high, perfectly
moulded chin and throat, eyes and hair a deep black, the former
raised the least little bit in the world at the outer corners--as she
lounged in a steely
kimono of finest
crape drawn up over one of scarlet. And he was in his way as bonny a
spectacle. Exceeding dark of skin; of low stature, as are most of the
Japanese, but admirably proportioned and muscular; his luxuriant
sable locks (shaven away in the centre, lest the eyes should be
obscured in battle), fastened in two tresses at the back, while a
becoming blue fillet bound his temples, knotted at the side in a bow.I am afraid I must admit at
once that Sampei, to whom I am very partial, was a sad flirt. He
invented appalling tales of death and slaughter, for the pleasure of
seeing the cheek of O'Tei grow whiter, then set himself to woo the
delicate sea-shell colour back with well-timed jest; and was
flattered and pleased to find that he could learn to play upon her as
on some fragile instrument. To the girl his radiant advent was a
strange and wondrous break in the sweet monotony of years,--a
revelation like the raising of some veil that masks the infinite; and
she marvelled vaguely whether the perfumed wood would hold so rich a
charm when he
was no longer there to rouse the echoes with his laughter. Hand in
hand they wandered--artless children--while the soft-eyed deer peeped
out at them approvingly. They visited her favourite haunts; the open
glade where the glorious lilies grew in clusters--lemon-yellow, or
white, brown centred; where the great jewelled butterflies tumbled
low along like junks under heavy sail; where beds of scarlet blossoms
like geraniums nestled in sheets on the bank of a crystal
stream--home of flights of glittering dragon-flies, black and
iron-blue, like the cohorts of the warlike Osaka. And then the sharp
twee twee of the
cicadas, answering or calling one another out of the deep stillness
of the canopy above, the boom of the hoarse bees, the buzzing of
gossamer wings, the click of the cricket, the hum of the myriad tiny
voices up in the dense green, which joining in harmonious chorus form
a silence--a haven of solitude and rest.It was not possible to linger
in the shadowed aisles whose pillars were the giant cryptomerias,
without feeling subdued and softened; and a suspicion flitted more
than once across the mind of the young soldier that perchance the
career of hurly-burly and the clash of steel were a mistake, the
contemplative life a better. What happier method of getting through
the cycle than to muse away the years, till called to go, with gentle
O'Tei, and the forest, and the animals? And then, the sylvan
influence and flash of the clear eyes removed, Sampei would wake and
shake himself in distress, and know that the ground was dangerous.
The contemplative life was good for girls and shaven priests, and men
who had succumbed in the battle. Youths with lives spread out before
like a trail of moonlight on the sea, must gird up their loins and
elbow their way through the medley. Too long already had the young
General dallied, wasting time. And yet, not wasting, for he and she
were to be friends for life--that was quite settled--dear brother and
loving sister, trusting each other without question, certain, in
moments of emergency, of the completest helpfulness and sympathy. It
was delicious to possess such a sister, a soft warm sunspot on his
harsh career; more she might never be, and he recognised that this
was well.Her gentleness unnerved his
arm, he was wont jestingly to say, for her nature was woven of such
frail glass threads that just as the rush of the herd snapped the
slender lily-stems, a rude puff of wind might shatter it. Some day
she would find a suitable husband, and her adopted brother would love
him for her sake; and then they would recline in the long grass and
fall a-talking of what the lucky mortal would be like. To match with
the perfection of O'Tei he must be a perfect creature. Not a bluff
soldier like Sampei. No, that would never do, for like a tender plant
must the dear maid be cherished. To the end must the White Fawn be
screened from din of war and rude surroundings. Poor hearts! They
were both so young and ignorant and hopeful. They knew not how futile
a pastime is the building of air-palaces. They were unaware that Fate
is a sad marplot, and that if we plan a matter in a certain way, it
will surely come out quite otherwise.The Shinto virgins were
somewhat scandalised by the romantic proceedings of the fair O'Tei
and the too good-looking General. They were disinclined to approve of
him, for they knew he had said that, with faces painted a dead white,
eyebrows at top of foreheads, and long flat hair well-oiled, they
looked like the dolls of Asakusa. A ribald military person was not
expected to have taste, or to know wherein lies true beauty, but he
might show more respect for youthful gorgons. O'Tei did little
credit, they averred, with tart displeasure, to her education. If she
pined for male society, was not the temple full of holy bonzes? The
heiress of Nara showed lamentable signs of incipient depravity. What
business had she with Sanjo, the common armourer? She who, wayward
always and inconsistent, when taught like every prospective
chatelaine to wield a pike, had been wont to toss down the
silver-mounted weapon, with a pout, vowing that she hated fighting.Things could not go on as they
were, for the situation was a false one. Sanjo grew nervous. If the
Daimio of Nara, who as Kugé or court noble lived usually at Kiŷoto
in attendance on the Emperor, were to hear that his only child,
instead of innocently floating through mazes of
kagura, was using
his (Sanjo's) forge for flirting purposes with an ineligible man who
was the son of a concubine, there would be trouble; and Sanjo was not
unaware of the parable concerning iron pots and earthen pipkins. All
were relieved, therefore, except O'Tei, who was hazy as to her own
sentiments, when the news arrived that the rebellion in Corea was to
be quelled, and that Sampei was to command the expedition.When brother and sister
parted, O'Tei clung round the neck of the youth, and, weeping
bitterly, shivered she knew not why. Lovingly he kissed her brow, and
disengaged himself from her embrace, and was more than ever certain
as he rode away that, perfect in a congenial sphere, as wife of some
grandee who would appreciate her gentle excellence, his sweet and
sensitive sister would make the worst of consoles for one whose trade
was war.
CHAPTER II.
THE LAST
HOJO.
Being a cunning and artful
reader, you have long since guessed that the pattern maid whose
benign influence was destined to reform the brutish No-Kami, was no
other than O'Tei, while the paragon Daimio was Nara.
The Shinto virgins, as
unjust and purblind as young gorgons may be expected to prove, were
quite wrong as to O'Tei, who was no flirt. She did all credit to
her rearing, for, when summoned to leave the conventual seclusion
of the forest and assume the garb and responsibilities of her rank,
she dutifully murmured, "Let my father's will be done," and
accepted the husband of his choice. She had never been told--for
the holy bonzes knew little about the subject--that in many
marriages there are but two cheerful days--the first and the
last--and marched straight upon her fate without a
tremor.
The elder Hojo, though a
crafty and long-headed statesman, made a sad mistake while
arranging the affairs of his son. The air palace he built was
complete and imposing, beautiful to the eye, but, as the muscular
and practical Tomoyé had foreseen, its foundations were of the
weakest. He forgot that old Nara, as lord in waiting, was likely to
be deeply attached to the person as well as to the position of the
Mikado; that he, like the rest of the Kugés, would probably
treasure up the insults which were freely showered on his master,
with a view to future vengeance.
Thanks to the uncompromising
tactics of the despot, the reigning Mikado (there were three in
exile) was a boy, aroi fainéant,
a puppet; but he was hedged about with the intangible and mystic
attributes of the Mikadoate, and the buffets he received
reverberated along the line of Kugés into the hearts of the lower
class. To possess the person of the Emperor was doubtless pleasing
to the possessor--a trump card--but those who did not possess him
felt his thraldom bitterly. That his daughter should wed the heir
of the all-powerful Hojo was satisfactory and flattering to Nara.
So long as the tyrant lived against whom it was hopeless to
struggle, he would mask his game; but after his death, what then?
He was expected to assume the functions of chief adviser, and keep
the successor straight--was, in fact, to tighten the bonds about
his master's limbs, for the behoof of the execrated
family.
This was
whimsical--illogically planned--and Hojo a fool for his pains, When
he contemplated the folly of the man he hated in his heart, the
grim visage of the cautious Nara was puckered into unaccustomed
smiles. The advice he would give in the future--so the wily lord
decided--must depend on the attitude of his son-in-law, and be
guided by the course of events for the benefit of the imperial
prisoner. In his mind's eye (if Hojo could only have guessed it!)
he beheld with secret exultation the brutish No-Kami sinking lower
and lower by sure degrees into debauchery, until the moment should
arrive when the ruler would become the ruled. And then--and then!
Well, time must show what then. Sufficient for the day is its
labour.
Just as a Nimrod of the
chase may fly safely over tremendous obstacles and be undone by a
ditch at last, so was it with old Hojo. He sallied forth one day to
put down an insignificant riot in never tranquil Satsuma, and
received there his quietus. As already related, the faithful Tomoyé
died with him, and No-Kami--juvenile, inexperienced, and cruel--was
called to reign in his stead. And now, no longer restrained in the
smallest degree by respect for a severe mother or fear of a fiery
father, the new despot, surrounded by parasites, gave free rein to
all his vices.
The unaccustomed period of
peace came to an abrupt conclusion. The young Mikado having been
goaded one day to remonstrate with his new jailor, the latter
raised his fan and slapped the august cheek. The Kugés flew to arms
to avenge their outraged lord, but No-Kami, with the aureole of his
father's prestige still about him, was too much for them. The
nobles who dwelt in the palace bore but little of the stamp of
warriors. The astute Nara, whilst hating the young man, saw that
now, while the aureole remained unfaded, it was not yet the time to
strike. He assumed therefore, with much parade of zeal,
therôleof mediator between his
master and his son-in-law. At first in vain.
An unorganised band of
patriots took the field, who were speedily routed and slain; and
No-Kami, like the tyrant that he was, ungenerously pursued his
advantage. Thanks to Nara's intervention, he refrained from
deposing the Mikado; but he made up for this act of clemency by
committing outrageous deeds. Banishment and confiscation were the
order of the day. The estates of those who had dared to unsheath
thekatanawere distributed among
the minions of the despot. All over Japan, those who loved their
country heard with groans of the annihilation of the loyalists, and
the pitiful condition of the Emperors. There was a puppet Mikado at
Kiŷoto, and a nominal Shogun at Kamakura, but they were both under
the tutelage of Hojo.
No-Kami, as Nara hoped and
expected, flushed with easy victory, and drunk with blood, resigned
himself for a while to luxury, and neglected public business. A
horde of rapacious bravos and licensed bandits sucked the lifeblood
and paralysed the energies of the people. The weight of taxes, that
ever crushes the spirit of the Asiatic peasant, grew heavier, day
by day, until existence became intolerable. How was an end to be
put to this nightmare? That was the question which all were
fearfully whispering, and to which there seemed no
solution.
No-Kami, if self-indulgent
and ruthless, was no zany. He knew that his position was to be
maintained by fear and a strong hand, and that enervation meant
destruction. Bundles of bamboo, when bound together, will dam a
stream, though each separate stem is but a feeble wand. The
insurrection of effeminate Kugés had been precipitate and foolish.
If the whole country were to rise like one man, he would, as he was
aware, be swept like rice chaff into the sea. In the mutual
jealousy of the Daimios lay his chief safeguard. While plunging
each in separate discomfort, union at all costs must be prevented.
Attempts at conspiracy among the nobles, or at combinations among
the lower classes, must be frustrated, and to that end he gave
strict orders to officials and tax-collectors to allow of no public
meetings. The people were to pay what was demanded of them, humbly
and dutifully, as best they could, but on no account were to be
permitted to hold gatherings. Even the great festivals of the year
were for a while to be discontinued.
Over and above these
precautions, the tyrant surrounded his person with a picked
body-guard of Samurai, or two-sword men; hedged his fortress with
bristling defences; and recalled his brother, the brilliant Sampei,
from his career of victory abroad.
Urged possibly by a spirit
of contrariness, a contempt for the society of his prisoner and the
Kugés--perhaps by a sense of freedom from personal danger
there--the favourite abode of No-Kami was his castle of Tsu, four
days' journey from the capital, over precipitous hills. Here he
loved to dwell, surrounded by his brawling warriors; sojourning
from time to time, when business called him to Kiŷoto, at a small
but superb villa, called the Golden House, which stood secluded in
a park on the outskirts of the sacred city.
The castle of Tsu was one of
the strongest in Japan (the outline of its foundations still
remains to attest to its vast area), and covered, within the square
space of the outer moat, sufficient ground to accommodate an army.
This outer moat, upon which many a shallop floated, was wide and
deep and sluggish on three sides, masked by a luxuriant crop of
lotos; while the fourth wall was washed by a rapidly-running river,
the Iwatagawa, which a couple of miles away brawled into the sea.
Out of the water rose a platform of great stones, with a fringe of
gnarled and rusty pines, through which were visible battlements of
earth crowned by a low parapet. At each corner was a huge
four-storied building, fitted with four wide roofs of sculptured
copper; the walls of whitewashed plaster within frameworks of
unpainted wood. Inside this outer defence was a recreation and
drill-ground of sufficient extent to allow of room for jousts and
spectators, as well as trees and vegetable gardens, and a village
of wooden huts for soldiery and camp followers. Dwellings of a
better class were clustered like seashells about the second or
inner moat, which enclosed a second wall.
Within the inner square was
a space of considerable size, in the centre of which uprose the
castle, a four-sided tower three hundred feet in height, tapering
towards the top. By reason of its many roofs or verandahs of
burnished and sculptured bronze, it seemed more like a cluster of
many towers, the centre one the loftiest; and a picturesque object
it was, for owing to the prevalence of earthquakes, all the walls
above the foundation platform were of whitened mud and plaster,
enclosed like the corner buildings within frames of timber; while
the middle roof reared its head with overhanging eaves to a sharp
point, crowned on the apex by a great fish, fashioned of pure
gold.
This fortress was, barring
miracle or treachery, justly reputed impregnable. Both moats were
crossed by drawbridges, as an extra caution against surprise. The
outer entrance was approached round a corner, so that the gate with
its side postern was doubly commanded from above. Even if the outer
wall were stormed, the inner one frowned on the intruder with
manifold engines, while the ground about it could be rendered
untenable by missiles from the summit of the tower.
A bowshot from the outer
moat, westward from the river bank, the town of Tsu, with
straggling suburbs, meandered, low and grey, like a long serpent.
All Japanese towns are of one colour, walls and roofs alike, of
wood unpainted and weatherworn, rendered a shade more silvery by
clusters of pale lichen; but Tsu was more monotonously gloomy in
aspect than most, by reason of damp and misery. The country close
around, with the exception of two low hills, was flat and sedgy,
broken by marshes and shallow rivulets. Away, hazy, melting into
blue, could be discerned the encircling peaks of the range, beyond
which is Kiŷoto. Grand mountains these, rugged and austere, with
many a beetling crag. Mikuni Yama; Outake San; and away to the
south-east Asama Yama, the majestic chief volcano of
Japan.
The town of Tsu differed
from others in that it displayed none of the spick-and-span
cleanliness for which the land of the Rising Sun is as conspicuous
as European Holland. The outlying cottages bore the stamp of
squalor and ague, standing in oozy sludge. So did the people bear
the brand of sorrow, as, listless and inert, they dragged their
heavy feet. As a poor show of enterprise, a few unripe persimmons,
which no one desired to buy, were exposed for sale in the mire;
while here and there a tray of sorrel-like leaves were placed to
dry (?)--a plant used for dying blue the cotton which is the common
garment of the peasant. There was none of the briskness and gaiety
to be seen that make rural Japan so cheery. None of the incessant
chatter and laughter and pattering of clogs, the rush-and-tumble of
naked brown babies, the whirr of the silk-looms, the busy hammer of
the carpenters.
The houses, wide open to the
street, displayed the usual raised platform of wood, smoothly
planed, covered with matting,
withhibachior firebox in the
middle; but there was no brilliant glimpse beyond of the wonderful
toy gardens, with rocks and dwarfed trees and straying tortoises
and gaudy flowers and crickets in tiny cages, which distinguish a
prosperous village. The paper windows or screens being always
pushed back in their grooves during the day, a rustic Japanese
household of the lower class may be said to live in public; for,
till the screens are replaced, which they usually are at dusk,
there may be said to be no privacy. You have a free view of goodman
or matron in the bath, or at the toilet, or eating, or sleeping, or
at work, and unabashed--with innocence sometimes for only
garment--they nod to you pleasantly with a cheerful "Ohayo!" as you
pass. Tsu was too degraded, steeped to the lips in grinding
poverty, to have energy for work or washing, much less for the
homely ornament of a single lily in a pot. Almost entirely nude the
men, unkempt and frowsy, lolled and slept--such a marvellous
variety of attitudes of sleep a sculptor might find there--while
the housewife, thin and sallow, naked to the waist, fumbled feebly
over the weaving of cheap hats, or grass sandals for man and
horse.
Of course the town could
boast of a superior quarter, where, in front of houses of a better
kind, were flapping blue cotton awnings, each one adorned with the
dominant daimio's cognisance. Into one of these, apparently the
cleanest and the best, we will enter (first removing our clogs and
swords), for what is proceeding within should interest us
somewhat.
It is evening. The
house-platform is raised on stilts as usual, two feet above ground,
and the fi [...]
