The grave was well kept, and the grass had been recently trimmed.
A little wooden awning: erected in front of the stone sheltered
the offerings of flowers and sprays of shikimi, and a cup of fresh
water. I did sincere reverence to the heroic and unselfish spirit,
and pronounced the customary formula. Some other visitors, I noticed,
saluted the spirit after the Shintō manner. The tombstones were so
thickly crowded about the spot that, in order to see the back of the
monument, I found I should have to commit the rudeness of stepping
on the grave. But I felt sure she would forgive me; so, treading
reverently, I passed round, and copied the inscription: "_Yuko, of
Nagasagori, Kamagawamachi ... from day of birth always good....
Meiji, the twenty-fourth year, the fifth month, the twentieth day ...
cause of sorrow the country having ... the Kyōto government-house to
went ... and her own throat cut ... twenty and seven years ... Tani
Tetsuomi made ... Kyōto-folk-by erected this stone_ is." The Buddhist
Kaimyō read, "_Gi-yu-in-ton-shi-chu-myō-kyō_"--apparently signifying,
"Right-meaning and valiant woman, instantly attaining to the admirable
doctrine of loyalty."
*
In the temple, the priest showed me the relics and mementos of the
tragedy: a small Japanese razor, blood-crusted, with the once white
soft paper thickly wrapped round its handle caked into one hard red
mass; the cheap purse; the girdle and clothing, blood-stiffened
(all except the kimono, washed by order of the police before having
been given to the temple); letters and memoranda; photographs, which
I secured, of Yuko and her tomb; also a photograph of the gathering
in the cemetery, where the funeral rites were performed by Shintō
priests. This fact interested me; for, although condoned by Buddhism,
the suicide could not have been regarded in the same light by the two
faiths. The clothing was coarse and cheap: the girl had pawned her best
effects to cover the expenses of her journey and her burial. I bought
a little book containing the story of her life and death, copies of
her last letters, poems written about her by various persons,--some
of very high rank,--and a clumsy portrait. In the photographs of Yuko
and her relatives there was nothing remarkable: such types you can
meet with every day and anywhere in Japan. The interest of the book
was psychological only, as regarded both the author and the subject.
The printed letters of Yuko revealed that strange state of Japanese
exaltation in which the mind remains capable of giving all possible
attention to the most trivial matters of fact, while the terrible
purpose never slackens. The memoranda gave like witness:--
_Meiji twenty-fourth year, fifth month, eighteenth day._ 5
sen to kurumaya from Nihonbashi to Uyeno.
_Nineteenth day._