FEAST OF THE SEA-GOD.
Next day, from early dawn, the streets of Osaka were full of movement
and mirth. The people prepared for the feast, rejoicing in the thought
of coming pleasures. Shops, the homes of artisans and citizens, opening
full upon the street, afforded a free view of their modest interiors,
furnished only with a few beautifully colored screens.
Voices were heard, mixed with bursts of laughter; and now and then some
mischievous child struggled out of his mother's arms, while she was
trying to dress him in his holiday attire, and frisked, and danced with
glee upon the wooden stairs leading from the house to the road. He was
then recalled with cries of pretended anger from within, the father's
voice was heard, and the child returned to his mother, trembling with
impatience.
Sometimes a little one would cry: "Mother, mother! Here comes the
procession!"
"Nonsense!" said the mother; "the priests have not even finished
dressing yet."
But still she moved towards the front of the house, and, leaning over
the light balustrade, gazed into the street.
Carriers, naked save for a strip of stuff knotted round their waists,
hastened rapidly by, across their shoulders a bamboo stick, which bent
at the tip from the weight of a package of letters. They went in the
direction of the Shogun's residence.
Before the barber's shops the crowd was thicker than elsewhere; the
boys could not possibly shave all the chins presented, or dress all
the heads offered. Customers awaiting their turn chatted gayly outside
the door. Some were already dressed in their holiday garb, of bright
colors, covered with embroidery. Others, more prudent, naked to the
waist, preferred to finish their toilet after their hair was dressed.
Vegetable-sellers and fish-merchants moved about through the throng,
loudly praising their wares, which they carried in two buckets hanging
from a cross piece of wood laid over one shoulder.
On every side people were trimming their houses with pennants, and
streamers, and embroidered stuffs covered with Chinese inscriptions in
gold on a black or purple ground; lanterns were hung up, and blossoming
boughs.
As the morning advanced, the streets became fuller and fuller of merry
tumult. Bearers of norimonos, clad in light tunics drawn tightly round
their waist, with large shield-shaped hats, shouted to the people to
make room. Samurais went by on horseback, preceded by runners, who,
with lowered head and arms extended, forced a passage through the
crowd. Groups paused to talk, sheltered from the sun by huge parasols,
and formed motionless islands in the midst of the surging, billowy
sea of promenaders. A doctor hurried by, fanning himself gravely, and
followed by his two assistants carrying the medicine-chest.
"Illustrious master, are you not going to the feast!" cried the
passers-by.
"Sick men pay no heed to feasts," he answered with a sigh; "and as
there are none for them, there can be none for us."
On the banks of Yedogava the excitement was still greater. The river
was literally hidden by thousands of vessels; the masts trimmed, the
sails still unset, but ready to unfurl, like wings; the hatchways hung
with silks and satins; the prows decked with banners whose golden
fringe, dipped into the water, glittered in the sun, and stained the
azure stream with many-colored ripples.
Bands of young women in brilliant attire came down the snowy steps of
the river-banks cut into broad terraces. They entered elegant boats
made of camphor-wood, set off by carvings and ornaments of copper, and
filled them with flowers, which spread perfumes through the air.
From the top of Kiobassi--that fine bridge which resembles a bent
bow--were hung pieces of gauze; crape, and light silk, of the most
delicate colors, and covered with inscriptions. A gentle breeze softly
stirred these lovely stuffs, which the boats, moving up and down,
pushed aside as they passed. In, the distance glistened the tall tower
of the palace and the two monstrous goldfish which adorn its pinnacle.
At the entrance to the city, to right and left of the river, the two
superb bastions looking out to sea displayed on every tower, at each
angle of the wall, the national standard, white with a scarlet disk,
--an emblem of the sun rising through the morning mists. Scattered
pagodas upreared above the trees against the radiant sky their many
roofs, curled upward at the edge in Chinese fashion.
The pagoda of Yebis, the divinity of the sea, attracted especial
attention upon this day; not that its towers were higher, or its sacred
doors more numerous, than those of neighboring temples, but from its
gardens was to start the religious procession so eagerly awaited by the
crowd.
At last, in the distance, the drum sounded. Every ear was bent to catch
the sacred rhythm familiar to all: a few violent blows at regular
intervals, then a hasty roll, gradually fading and dying, then again
abrupt blows.
A tremendous roar of delight rose from the crowd, who instantly took
their places along the houses on either side of the streets through
which the procession was to pass.
The Kashiras, district police, rapidly stretched cords from stake to
stake, to prevent the throng from trespassing on the main street. The
procession had started; it had passed through the Tory, or sacred
gateway which stands outside the pagoda of Yebis; and soon it defiled
before the impatient multitude.
First came sixteen archers, one behind the other, in two lines, each
man at a convenient distance from the other. They wore armor made of
plates of black horn fastened together by stitches of red wool. Two
swords were thrust through their sashes, barbed arrows extended above
their shoulders, and in their hands they held huge bows of black and
gold lacquer. Behind them came a body of servants bearing long staffs
tufted with silk. Then appeared Tartar musicians, whose advent was
announced by a joyous racket. Metallic vibrations of the gong sounded
at intervals, mingled with drums beaten vigorously, shuddering cymbals,
conch-shells giving out sonorous notes, shrill flute-tones, and blasts
of trumpets rending the air, formed such an intensity of noise, that
the nearest spectators winked and blinked, and seemed almost blinded.
After the musicians came, borne on a high platform, a gigantic
crawfish, ridden by a bonze. Flags of every hue, long and narrow,
bearing the arms of the city, and held by boys, swung to and fro about
the enormous crustacean. Following, were fifty lancers, wearing round
lacquer hats, and carrying on their shoulders a lance trimmed with
a red tassel. Two servants led next a splendidly caparisoned horse,
whose mane, drawn up above his neck, was braided and arranged like a
rich fancy trimming. Standard-bearers marched behind this horse; their
banners were blue, and covered with golden characters. Then advanced
two great Corean tigers, with open jaws and bloodshot eyes. Children
in the crowd screamed with fright; but the tigers were of pasteboard,
and men, hidden in their paws, made them move. A monstrous drum, of
cylindrical form, followed, borne by two bonzes; a third walked beside
it and struck the drum incessantly with his clenched fist.
Finally came seven splendidly dressed young women, who were received
with merry applause. These were the most famous and most beautiful
courtesans of the town. They walked one after the other majestically,
full of pride, each accompanied by a maid, and followed by a man who
held a large silken parasol over her. The people, who knew them well,
named them as they passed.
"There's the woman with the silver teal!" Two of those birds were
embroidered on the large loose-sleeved cloak which she wore over her
many dresses, whose collars were folded one above the other upon her
breast. The cloak was of green satin, the embroidery of white silk,
mixed with silver. The fair one's headdress was stuck full of enormous
tortoise-shell pins, forming a semicircle of rays around her face.
"That one there, that is the seaweed woman!"
The beautiful growth, whose silken roots were lost in the embroideries
of the cloak, floated out from the stuff and fluttered in the wind.
Then came the beauty with the golden dolphin; the beauty with the
almond-blossoms; the beauties with the swan, the peacocks, and the blue
monkey. All walked barefooted upon high clogs made of ebony, which
increased their apparent height. Their heads bristled with shell-pins,
and their faces, skilfully painted, seemed young and charming under the
soft shadow of the parasol.
Behind these women marched men bearing willow-branches; then a whole
army of priests, carrying on litters, or under pretty canopies with
gilded tops, the accessories, ornaments, and furniture of the temple,
which was purified during the progress of the procession.
After all these came the shrine of Yebis, the God of the Sea, the
indefatigable fisher who spends entire days wrapped in a net, a line in
his hand, standing on a rock half submerged in the water. The octagonal
roof was covered with blue and silver, bordered with a pearl fringe,
and surmounted by a great bird with outspread wings. This shrine,
containing the God Yebis invisible within, was borne by fifty bonzes
naked to the waist.
Behind, upon a litter, was borne the magnificent fish consecrated to
Yebis, the _Akama, or scarlet lady_,--the favorite dish of all those
who are fond of dainty fare. Thirty horsemen armed with pikes ended the
procession.
The long train crossed the city, followed by the crowd which gathered
in its rear; it reached the suburbs, and after a long march came out
upon the sea-shore.
Simultaneously with its arrival, thousands of vessels reached the mouth
of Yedogava, which wafted them gently towards the ocean. The sails were
spread, the oars bit the water, banners floated on the breeze, while
the sun flashed myriad sparkles across the blue, dancing waves.
Fide-Yori also reached the shore by the road that skirts the river
bank; he stopped his horse and sat motionless in the midst of his
suite, which was but scanty, the Regent being unwilling to eclipse the
religious _cortége_ by the royal luxury.
Hieyas himself was carried in a norimono, as were the mother and wife
of the Shogun. He declared himself ill.
Fifty soldiers, a few standard-bearers, and two out-runners formed the
entire escort.
The arrival of the young Prince divided the attention of the crowd, and
the procession of Yebis no longer sufficed to attract every eye. The
royal headdress, a sort of oblong golden cap placed upon Fide-Yori's
head, made him easily recognizable from a distance.
Soon the religious procession filed slowly before the Shogun. Then
the priests with the shrine left the ranks and went close down to the
water's edge.
Upon this the fishermen and river boatmen suddenly ran up with cries,
bounds, and gambols, and threw themselves upon the bearers of Yebis.
They imitated a battle, uttering shouts, which grew more and more
shrill. The priests made a feigned resistance; but soon the shrine
passed from their shoulders to those of the stout sailors. The latter
with howls of joy rushed into the sea and drew their beloved god
through the clear waves, while bands of music, stationed on the junks
which ploughed the sea, broke into merry melody. At last the sailors
returned to land, amidst the cheers of the crowd, who soon scattered,
to return in all haste to the town, where many other diversions awaited
them,--open-air shows, sales of all sorts, theatrical representations,
banquets, and libations of saki. Fide-Yori left the beach in his turn,
preceded by the two runners and followed by his train. They entered
a cool and charming little valley, and took a road which, by a very
gentle slope, led to the summit of the hill. This road was utterly
deserted, all access to it having been closed since the evening before.
Fide-Yori thought of the plot, of the bridge which was to give way and
hurl him into an abyss. He had dwelt upon it all night with anguish;
but beneath this bright sun, amidst this peaceful scene, he could no
longer believe in human malice. And yet the path chosen for the return
to the palace was strange. "We will take this road to avoid the crowd,"
said Hieyas; but he had only to close another way to the people, and
the King might have gone back to the castle without making this odd
circuit.
Fide-Yori looked about for Nagato; he was nowhere to be seen. Since
morning the Shogun had twenty times inquired for him. The Prince was
not to be found.
Sad forebodings seized upon the young Shogun. He suddenly asked
himself why his escort should be so scanty, why he was preceded by two
runners only. He looked behind him, and it seemed to him as if the
norimono-bearers slackened their pace.
They reached the brow of the hill and soon Swallow bridge appeared at
the turn of the road. As his eye fell upon it, Fide-Yori involuntarily
reined in his horse; his heart beat violently. The frail bridge, boldly
flung from one hill to another, crossed a very deep valley. The river,
rapid as a torrent, leaped over the rocks with a dull, continuous
noise. But the bridge seemed as usual to rest firmly upon the smooth
rocks which jutted out beneath it.
The runners advanced unshrinkingly. If the conspiracy existed, they
knew nothing of it. The young King dared not pause; he seemed to hear
echoing in his ears Nagato's words: "March fearlessly towards the
bridge!"
But the beseeching tones of Omiti also thrilled through his mind he
recalled the oath which he had uttered. Nagato's silence alarmed him
above all else. How many things might occur to foil the Prince's plan!
Surrounded by skilful spies who watched his slightest acts, he might
have been carried off and prevented from communicating with the King.
All these thoughts rushed tumultuously into Fido-Yori's brain, the last
supposition making him turn pale. Then, by one of those mental freaks
often noted in situations of extreme peril, he suddenly recalled a song
which he had sung as a child, to make himself familiar with the chief
sounds of the Japanese language. He mechanically repeated it:--
"Color and perfume fade away.
What is there in this world that is permanent?
The day which is passed, vanishes in the gulf of oblivion.
It is like the echo of a dream.
Its absence causes not the slightest distress."
"I learned that when a mere child," murmured the King; "and yet I now
shrink and hesitate at the possibility of death."
Ashamed of his weakness, he urged his horse forward. Just then a loud
noise was heard on the opposite side of the bridge; and, suddenly
turning the corner of the road, angry horses, with flying mane and
bloodshot eyes, appeared, dragging behind them a chariot laden with the
trunks of trees. They hastened towards the bridge, and their furious
feet rang doubly loud upon the wooden flooring.
At the sight of these animals coming towards them Fide-Yori's whole
escort uttered cries of terror, the porters dropped their norimonos,
the women jumped out of them in alarm, and, gathering up their ample
robes, fled hastily away. The runners, whose feet already touched the
bridge, turned abruptly, and Fide-Yori instinctively sprang to one side.
But all at once, like a cord which, too tightly stretched, breaks,
the bridge gave way with a loud crash; it first bent in the centre,
then the two fragments rose suddenly in the air, scattering a shower
of pieces on every hand. The horses and the car were plunged into the
river, the water dashing in foam to the very brow of the hill. For some
moments one animal hung by his harness, struggling above the gulf; but
his bonds gave way and he fell. The tumultuous stream quickly bore
to the sea horses, floating tree trunks, and all the remnants of the
bridge.
"Oh, Omiti!" cried the King, motionless with horror, "you did not
deceive me! This then was the fate reserved for me! Had it not been for
your devotion, sweet girl, my mangled body would even now be flung from
rock to rock."
"Well, master, you possess the knowledge that you wished. What do you
think of my team?" cried a voice close beside the King.
The latter turned. He was alone, all his servants had abandoned him;
but he saw a head rising from the valley. He recognized Nagato, who
quickly climbed the stony elope and stood beside the King.
"Ah, my friend! my brother!" said Fide-Yori, who could not restrain
his tears. "What have I ever done to inspire such hatred? Who is the
unhappy man whom my life oppresses, and who would fain hurry me from
the world?"
"Would you know that wretch?--would you learn the name of the guilty
man?" said Nagato with a frown.
"Do you know him, friend? Tell me his name."
"Hieyas!" said Nagato.