The day dawned bright, and all Kitanoshi livened with anticipation.
Great masses of foliage bended or thirsted under the golden dew drops
that trickled and glistened in the creeping sun's modest warmth.
Everywhere men and women, clad in comfort or donning their due, wafting
song-words or grumbling at fate, busied themselves with that beginning
which marks the endless round of time's eternal quest and God's
immutable law. Little had been left to the wild, for here the untrained
had long ago found his tenantless haven; the ox and the fragile alike
had surrendered to the call of higher being; here, where the human
over-lords the beast, man went his way: marveled only at the beauties of
God-striven energy.
Shibata eagerly tripped again into the council chamber; years of
earnestness sat lightly upon his shoulders; Takigawa of Ise was there to
meet him; both had suffered intolerable insult at Hideyoshi's ruthless
assumption of authority, and now that others more vain or less
discerning sought shelter under their own disconsolate roofs these two,
more subtle, if less capable, would consolidate forces and move upon
what they none too soon conceived to be a common necessity.
Ieyasu arose later; life to him seemed the better conserved in leisure;
and while Shibata, his host, and Takigawa, his neighbor, wrangled the
exigencies of war, or planned doubtful expediencies, a more inviting,
though perhaps no less urgent prospect lolled and soothed the gallant
young daimyo into more than a customary morning's peaceful dreaming of
love's over-powering, life-building virtue.
"Yodogima, my Yodogima," whispered he, as the great red sun arose and
cast its fiery rays into the opened room around him.
"You are mine, for Amaterasu, the good sun goddess, reveals you, sweet
Yodogima, in every trace of her lovely countenance. Come closer, oh, my
darling; come closer, that Ieyasu may feel, may know, may live the
divine. You are my savior, earth's true progenitor, and the stars in
heaven reveal but your eternity. O, Amaterasu; O, Jimmu; O, Yodogima--my
Light, my Purpose, my God."
The waterfall in the distance murmured its time-honored song of powers
subdued. The pine, dwarfed into miniature proportions, revealed the
potency of patience rigidly enforced. Nodding stones here and there
symbolized again and anon the power of truth. A half-hidden lakelet in
the distance conjured a magnitude there impossible, and from the castle
crag in the garden's center, receding round to the dim horizon beyond,
no thing remained untouched or thought neglected in the making of this a
place not alone inhabitable but as well inviting.
A lone lespedeza straggled and bloomed significantly close at the wall
side; where, perhaps, ages ago its fair protegé long since a goddess
had met and won with no more grace a far less gallant lover. Would
Yodogima come there too?
Ieyasu breathed contentedly of its fragrance and willed afresh that
herein lie the potency of man's everlasting generation.
A cuckoo came and cocked itself upon the side house-sill.
"Sing to me," commanded Ieyasu, bending forward intently.
The cuckoo stood stark still, amazed at the sound of his voice. Some
ominous thing--too uncanny for thought, more than consciousness would
reveal--presently suggested, "I'll kill the cuckoo if he does not sing."
"No, no; not I--only Nobunaga could say that. Ieyasu--"
"Sing to me," demanded he this time, straightening up defiantly.
The bird ruffled its plumage, as if ready to fly or do battle, and
conscience bade him, "I'll make the cuckoo sing."
"Ah! That sounds like Hideyoshi. Those are his sentiments. Ieyasu--"
"Sing to me," said he now, leaning back adroitly.
The little thing tucked its wings, and closing one eye stood confidingly
in the warm sun's rays. Ieyasu--only said:
"I'll wait till the cuckoo sings."
And he did wait--but presently his eyes were opened by the sound of a
voice that arose not from nature, nor from the ethereal, for his own
consciousness revealed it, and all the senses rose and the soul stooped
to a common level. Ieyasu, the one prince who had resisted every
temptation to yield at the call of devotion; who had withstood the force
of power, ignored the claims of conquest, and shunned at the taste of
wealth; who had succeeded to opportunity, yet studied its consequence;
had held his own against, without intruding upon others; partaken of the
fruits of life and looked forward into the indeterminate beyond--had
welcomed any test that man or God invoked, now stood dazed at the charm
of woman's potency.
He looked up, and the same green vine still carried its own true
offering, the cuckoo had long flown, the sun rose and the earth
responded, but underneath it all, above the rest, and whence he knew
not, came the call that for good or for bad, at once and for all, too
soon or too late, moved him to do and to know.
"Come to me," cried he, thrilled with the notes that issued, loftier
than the cuckoo's, more heavenly than are the skies.
"Come to me," repeated he, yet composedly, "for it is you, Yodogima;
none other could sing so sweetly. I must have you."
Still the tanka (verse) issued, its soul-stirring message only tightened
the grip of one human heart upon another. For ages these gentle maidens
and their ardent suitors had dwelt upon its perfection. No base word had
been left to mar its symmetry; not a thought of mortality jarred the
sense; the unreal had been made real; yet hitherto in his mind no voice
had risen to essay its value.
Ieyasu listened and Yodogima rendered; sang as if possessed of a spirit
never before felt or touched, and Ieyasu hurled at constancy's feet all
that tradition or enlightenment had vainly invoked.
A power unseen, unfelt, unknown, held supreme. The best that the
energies of men had yet devised stood symbolized in this one man
Ieyasu--nobody disputed that: not even he himself at heart could deny
the truth. The exigencies of birth, the value of training, and the force
of purpose alike marked this man as a leader among men. A full
consciousness of the responsibilities urged him unequivocally to the
fulfillment of his mission. He would do for his kind no less than the
gods had done for theirs.
But here, confronting him, arose, commanding attention, a new authority.
Heretofore men and women had been considered one--man. Were it possible,
after all, that they, too, were separated by a gulf as wide as that
between heaven and earth? A destiny as incomprehensible as nirvana
itself? A province as distinct as that revealed by the principles
positive and negative? And did God but stand between and the devil
behind them? Was it the devil between and the gods behind? Or were the
gods beckoning them alone, and unhindered except by man himself?
These were stirring questions for Ieyasu, who had conceived Shinto,
then suffered Buddha, at last to become threatened of Christ.
Thought crowded upon him till his head seemed in a whirl and only the
body responded--to what he did not know; no lone man could tell.
Yodogima sat upon the lacquered bench, underneath the spreading
lespedeza, innocent of a thought beyond the duty to which she, the
eldest daughter of the host and betrothed of a superior, Katsutoya, had
been assigned. Her place in the household made it incumbent upon her to
entertain at this hour of the day a guest and patron of the rank and
standing of Ieyasu.
The flowers overhead bespoke her innocence; the verse she sang portrayed
a devotion unquestioned; while the dressing of her hair, the manner of
her garments, and the method of her doing signified an age, station and
disposition not to be mistaken.
Yet the pathos and the inspiration of her voice revealed an inner
consciousness that is neither bought of preferment nor satisfied with
precedent. The plaintive mournful notes, the anxious eager accents, the
glad forgiving tones, all invited repose, stirred the interest and
awakened impulse. Ieyasu conjured within his over-burdened conscience a
duty consistent alike with inner compulsion and outward exigencies. He
would surrender position, opportunity, everything to save his manhood:
the very soul of being called aloud from the uttermost depths of
unreality--the real paled with insignificance, the things around him
shrivelled into nothingness, the earth itself rocked upon an uncertain
axis, and the heavens alone bade him do.
He would have cried out, but words seemed a mockery; gathered her in his
arms, had it not been vulgar; touched her with his lips, were not the
flesh a repulsive thing; entranced her with a look, coaxed her with
promises, inveigled her with deception, stolen her, coerced her, done
anything to get her--but the tenets of his religion forbade.
Numberless generations of denial had made of him a man. All the
instincts of brute being stood lost behind the ages of progressive
enlightenment. The tutelage of an ancestry that fancy painted looking
down with each star twinkle, that science tore from the hard face of
phenomenon, that existence itself proclaimed with every heart-beat,
guided this man and this woman toward an only rational attainment, to a
predestined, uncontrollable end.
Man in his weakness had thought differently--no age had brought forth
more than conformity, here or elsewhere on earth; history, travel, and
science had proven that, and these men and women were not devoid of
understanding--had conceived the earth as of heaven, conjured their
state to be coexistent with the earth, and made man at once a master and
its slave: woman had become the handmaid of fortune, the instrument of
fate, and the idol of the gods.
Ieyasu pondered, and Yodogima wrought.
Clothed in garments that obliterated all trace of form or suggestion, of
a texture that hid the weave and a making that disclosed no stitch, yet
displayed a handiwork as perfect as it was simple; her hair waved and
fastened round without an ornament or a device that could be seen; her
feet sandalled in earthen-like wood, and her nails pink and cheeks olive
and eyes trustful, Yodogima revealed in her presence and strove with a
purpose all that time had been able to wrest from an humbler beginning.
The green turf, the broken sky line, birds of plumage and the fragrance
of flowers, the open expanse or covered nook, all bespoke a care and a
concern intended to move and to weld mankind.
Yodogima remained seated, underneath the shade, amid an environment
made, not creative. The sun drove its rays fiercer and more propellingly
against Ieyasu's stand. It remained for him to give; she could but
receive. Love beamed from every distance, floated in close upon them,
arose subtilely within, grew hard without, compelling, exacting, and
vital. Ieyasu strode down the chiselled steps--overcome with the joy of
doing, forgetful of every mandate in restraint--and falling upon his
knees before her, whispered:
"Yodogima, I love you."
Her song only quickened, then lowered a little, perhaps the least bit
pathetically.
There was neither exultation nor regret, though for the moment a faint
realization of duty--arising from a constantly receding past, battling
against an urgently progressive present--flushed apparently, then
whitened perceptibly her face: she sang more sweetly, if less deeply,
than before.
Ieyasu's eyes fell to the pebbled floor and his soul seared with
anticipation.
Would she bid defiance away, under the stress of heart? Or would she
starve self, to uphold tradition? The tanka progressed, and Ieyasu
trembled underneath advancement's harsher demands; time had wrought his
inevitable change. Ages ago his nearest ancestors had snatched the
coveted morsel and gorged unchallenged behind a fiercer deity. Yet still
farther back and over that again stood Amaterasu, benign, supreme,
unquestioned. Whence this fleeting thought of man? Were he but the crude
remnant of an unbroken descent thence the God of gods? Man, only a
product of decline, groping his way from past to present; often
recovering, then again but losing; only to sink still lower, more
hopelessly, till dust once and forever claimed him? Were hell his goal,
or heaven his due? The tanka alone answered.
Her notes quickened, and it strengthened him: there remained but a
single verse, and it seemed as if breathing were a penalty.
Sakuma passed them by, at some distance, in the garden below. The
concerned captain had just left the council chamber, and walking as if
in a hurry, toward the armory, not far distant, underneath the inner
ramparts, at the farther side of the castle enclosure, without observing
the lovers, well hidden behind the overhanging vine's long drooping
branches--they were as unmindful of him as he was careless about
them--Sakuma only heard, though marvelled its more than usual pathos the
last informing strains of Yodogima's world-appealing message.
Knowing though who her auditor might be and divining the occasion for
such feeling--only the last measures had reached him distinctly--there
appeared no need for any closer contact: the grizzled veteran went his
way, determined, however convinced.
Yodogima and Ieyasu both had risen, and standing facing, each bowed
earnestly, meditating deeply the responsibilities they had then for all
time of their own will so freely assumed.
"Pardon me, Ieyasu; I did not mean to be irreverent. Some ungovernable
impulse truly possessed me--relieve and forget."
"Forget I could not, and why relieve? Is it not meet to take?"
"You know my father's will."
"And I know yours."
"And your own?"
"Yes."
"You disadvantage me."
"I'll prove it's not a quandary."
"Then I am yours, for I have confidence in you, and confidence
rightfully bestowed is truly real liberty won."
"Quite democratic, Yodogima, and--perchance justly so; were men without
some wholesome check the world should sooner reach its final doom."
"But we live, Ieyasu, and--is not life worth the while? Does it not
portend something more than merely living?"
"It would were it not for the price--but trust me, Yodogima; I live only
for you."
"I do."
"Then you are mine, and the world can take care of itself."
They bowed low, and Ieyasu, strengthened, as only a wholesome
appreciation can strengthen, took his leave, fully determined to remove
every obstacle to the consummation of a love that had grown and ripened
from childhood associations, that germinated with an earliest contact
and sent its roots deep down into the fertile soil of a consciously
overpowering affinity.
Yodogima stood still at first, fairly puzzled at the daring of Ieyasu's
conception.
All that time or task had taught her seemed crushed underneath a
possible truth. Were man but a stretch between something and
nothingness, then generation must be a curse and love only a
consequence. And if it were not true and marriage were a thing in which
a parent, the state, or society at large rightly had an interest, then
her answer had been a crime; she had transgressed, and therein must lie
the sin.
Then she remembered that the sages had sung in all lands and at all
times of man's strength and woman's worse than weakness.
"I will trust him and he shall prove the truth."
Yodogima ran out of the bowery and into the open: Ieyasu turned, the
sun reflected its rays, and in that parting look, only a tender glance,
a message from thence, she beheld her God.
Ieyasu hurried on, toward his mission; the noise at the armory,
Shibata's high purpose, and his own inner determination bade him act
quickly and knowingly were he to save Yodogima--he did not apprehend
Sakuma; Ieyasu was only human; other exigencies than his there were in
more directions than one.
Now that her lover had gone, removed himself beyond the fetch or force
of feeling, Yodogima, too, at once realized with all the ableness of
intellect at her command--strengthened and driven by a will as heartless
as it was unremitting--a duty that till then had lain dormant under the
influence of a controlling if perhaps inexcusable situation. Not that
she pondered the course that he would pursue, no more the virtue of
their undertaking; it were for him to determine successfulness: God
alone might judge them true or false--but her father, the one who had
given her place and opportunity, who had conceived differently, was at
that very moment embarking upon enterprises and assuming
responsibilities wholly dependent upon her.
And one false step, a single controverted thought, must necessarily lead
to his uncertain downfall--his death had been a small thing, her own a
welcome sacrifice, but the bushido! Hell itself were a blessing as
compared with everlasting disgrace.
The blood fairly froze in her veins, thought refused obeisance, fain
spirit paled at the consequence, and only duty urged her now; she must
speak, she would save him, she should uphold tradition, even at the cost
of self.
"Father," begged she, accosting him at the threshold of his abandoned
chamber, his friend, Takigawa, supporting him vainly, close at one side.
"Yes, daughter."
"Please return into the house; I should like to speak with you."
"What? A daughter thrust herself into a father's affairs? Did you hear
that, Takigawa?"
"It's like a woman: I can retire, and let her have her say, if only for
once; it can do no harm, Shibata."
"Not so, Takigawa. Wives pleading, daughters interfering, and everybody
for himself, these days--I tell you Hideyoshi is the curse of this land.
On with the business, and when Shibata has laid low the last of them,
stood right above might and attained his rightful place, then Katsutoya
may rule and Yodogima can speak--consolation is a husband's due,
obedience a parent's command."
"Honorable father--"
"Tut, tut; Shibata's child knows not irreverence. See her, my lord? Ha,
ha; how gracefully she falls! An angel could not look sweeter, there is
no better plaything--let us be off, Takigawa, lest we disturb her and
miss the enemy; it is a long way to Shizugataka."