THE "NO" DANCE
After the departure of Perry and his fleet there was nothing of
importance from the outside world to disturb the quaint little kingdom,
so snugly hemmed in by the eastern waters. There was no immediate
necessity for any material change at the newly made treaty ports, and in
consequence the administration made known only so much of the terms of
the compromise as it was thought would satisfy the opposition. The
people were left in doubt as to its full purport, and thus they soon
became reconciled to a belief that after all the danger might not be so
great as at first supposed.
After the storm had passed there came a lull which might have lasted
indefinitely had Ikamon been more sagacious in the treatment of local
affairs. His sway at home was now supreme, and his rule so effective
that he mistook complaisance for submission, and as a result overlooked
the slow but positive disaffection in the south.
When the readjustment took place it was thought that Saigo's reward and
position would tend to allay the discontent in that locality, and that
an economic policy would again restore the shogun to the full confidence
of all sections of the country. This was true in a measure, but the
patriots who worshipped at the mikado's seat could not be effectively
won over by personal favours bestowed upon their leaders. They were full
of the soul of ancient times, and nothing short of a complete
restoration of conditions could satisfy their rising spirits.
However, the shock of recent events had so checked their growth as to
give Ikamon a chance to centralise his force and place Tetsutaisho at
the head of a consolidated army. In all these doings the young general
took no active part other than to hold himself in readiness to strike
when called upon, but in the meantime gave himself up wholly to the
delights of a love that was inevitable, if without the pale. Shibusawa
continued to remain absent, and to all but his father had become as if
forgotten, while Takara was now the favourite of the lord daimyo, and
the castle offered her every privilege as she liked. Tetsutaisho was her
slave, and she toyed with him as with a child, coming regularly and
remaining at her will.
"Let us go down by the summer garden," said she, on a sultry afternoon
in July, as they finished their tea on the veranda. "There by the pond
where the snow-white cranes stalk silently about or lazily tuck their
sacred heads; under the rose-covered retreat that juts out over the
iris-flagged waters. How I do love to sit there and be your
idle-thought!"
"I am glad you proposed it. I will call the carriers and we will take
the norimonos (chairs) down. It is too hot to walk this day," answered
he, glad of the chance.
Having in a little while arrived at the chosen retreat they lounged on
the matted floor amidst the fragrance of the lotus and in view of the
iris-studded waters in front. A cool breeze gently floated in, and now
and then a golden crane crossed in the wake of his abode.
"I wish I were a bird," said Takara, dreamily.
"Then I should be your mate," answered Tetsutaisho, quickly.
"And this our nest," whispered she.
"Our paradise," said he.
"And if it were," continued Takara, "we would live here for ever, and
there would be no parting and no improprieties. I do hate a world where
one must suffer to be happy! Kamie has given us all these beautiful
things and has made us to love, and naughty man has tried to upset it
all and make us creatures of his convenience. I, for one, propose to
consult more my own pleasure."
"Quite right you are, Takara; conventionality is a thing I do not like
so very well myself. Yet we ought not to complain, for there is really
nothing to prevent us from making this our heaven. Who could ask for a
more lovely spot! And I assure you there is neither man nor law to stand
between us."
"Do you think so?"
"It is true. I know it."
"Then I am content, for I have but a single thought."
"Just as the beautiful lotus which you see standing here and there and
all about. It is emblematic of purity, which springs from
single-mindedness; and of virtue, because of its usefulness. You are
just like they, and I love them and I am going to love you."
"And you always will?"
"So long as Jurokin be a god."
After a while they had said their say and, leaning back on the rustic
moulding, contented themselves with looking out at the shadows falling
across the mirrored lake from the tall cypress standing on the bank.
Presently Takara broke the silence by saying:
"Let us call the geishas; the water is so still and the day suggestive.
What do you say, Tetsutaisho?"
"A happy thought. And what shall it be?"
"I have but one choice."
"The ancient dance?"
"Yes; 'No.'"
Tetsutaisho called and despatched a servant to the shibai (house of
entertainment) for Michizane, the "lover of the plum" and poet to
Takara, who came forthwith and bowed, and then stood by, waiting to be
directed. Tetsutaisho first spoke, saying:
"Michizane, your lady would have you provide some entertainment before
the sun is set. She herself will suggest the kind."
"Yes, Michizane," said she. "Let it be 'no,' the dance of our fathers;
then, if you like, a poem."
Michizane bowed and departed, though not with a happy expression. Since
her early childhood this old man had faithfully provided Takara with
innocent amusement, which service, since his lady's marriage to
Shibusawa, consisted chiefly in reading to her poems of his own
creation. She had brought him along from Kyoto as a necessary part of
her household effects, all of which belonged to an age or a school not
of the shogun's. He was now a veteran of sixty years, and little
calculated to compose in a vein suited to his fair lady's taste, except
it be not when Tetsutaisho was so near by.
Michizane was not long, however, in arranging in front of the "lovers'
nest" the covered float, upon which there balanced a dozen and six--one
for each half decade from birth to ninety--of the fairest and loveliest
of the geishas. These were arranged at the rear of the platform in the
form of a crescent, beginning at the left with the youngest and ending
at the right with the oldest--symbolic of the rising and the setting of
the sun. All were clad in rich garments, fashioned according to their
ages, and their hair was arranged in representation of the several
stages of womanhood. They stood with bowed head and extended foot, ready
to reel and swing at the first sound of the music.
At the centre of the crescent there sat facing the dancers three others
of a different type and a more gaudy dress, with bright coloured
ornaments in their hair and much tinsel about their waists. These were
the koto players, who held their instruments in front waiting the signal
for them to begin the dance.
In front of these, facing the dancers, sat Michizane, cross-toed and
erect, with his withered hands folded in front of him. He wore a plain
grey kimono, which folded under a long girdle, looped up at the side,
and his long white hair fluffed out and hung far down over his stooped
shoulders.
Everything was now silent, not even a leaf stirring. The sun blazed in
the west, and the deep shadows told of its setting. The dancers grew
animated, the players composed, and Michizane reverent, and there arose
in the listeners mingled feelings of sorrow and delight. Their hearts
beat, and the grey poet bowed low, and the dance began. The soft strains
of music inspired them, and the lesson unfolded before them repeated the
story of life for ever and evermore. One by one the maidens laid bare
their part in the great drama that unfolds from the cradle to the grave,
and no man there looked without a deeper sense of responsibility and a
happier inspiration for the day. No vulgar thought disturbed them, for
theirs was a purer and a nobler reality. Base desires arose from another
source; the choosing, the sin. As the last dancer disrobed the strains
lowered, and when the final shred was doffed the music ceased and the
sun set: the drama was over and the world in darkness. There was no need
for covering, no desire to live.
Thus those two passed the time, when it was agreeable for them to meet.
At Koyo-odori (maple dance for girls) Takara gave a party on the lawn,
to which all of her younger girl friends in the neighbourhood were
invited. Tetsutaisho was there in his uniform, with full regalia, and of
course was the idol of the fair young maidens, who looked upon him as
being little less than a god. In mid-winter the Mukojima (snow-seeing
trip) afforded an opportunity to get into the country, where they
lingered and enjoyed themselves at will. The mountain Tsukuba, just back
of Tokyo, was their favourite place for this event, whither the
white-enrobed earth stretched away to the ocean in front. Whether winter
or summer they were always happy when together and lonely when not.
Finally on a bright morning in March--it was March third, the day of
Hinanosaku, festival for young girls--the sun rose and cast its red
among the tall trees and the furrowed housetops of the castle ground.
Maido struck his pipe against the brazier and then arose and slowly left
his room. Presently he climbed the short lacquered stairs and entered a
deserted room with panelled sash through which the sunlight streamed and
warmed the cheerless place.
The squared ceiling revealed a rich setting of wood and grain, and the
floor was spread over with soft, clean matting. A large vase of
beautiful blue, in which grew a dwarfed orange, fragrant with bloom,
stood upon a raised recess in the wall. Over this hung a long
kakemono,[11] done by an old master, and in a corner stood a screen of
rare embroidery. There was nothing more, and the room seemed bare and
desolate. Takara was gone. The daimyo's heart throbbed heavily, and he
knelt behind the screen, and with his face turned away begged Kimon to
give him freedom.
As he sat there an aged man, bent and sorrowful, stole in and across the
room to the sacred recess in the wall, where he bowed, and said:
"Alas! It is well!"