A MEETING IN THE GARDEN
The cock had already crowed before Shibusawa reached his chamber and lay
down to rest. He could not sleep, but arose and went for a walk in the
woodland bordering the castle grounds. Here he searched out a secluded
spot, where he sat down in the light of early morning to think and plan.
The air was still and the sun just beginning to pierce the cool shade of
the forest, with here and there a ray of warmth. Presently the quiet was
broken by the sound of footsteps approaching through the garden, and
looking up he saw Maido coming toward him.
"Are you here, too, and so early?" said the daimyo, with a ring of
gladness that came from his heart. "I thought only the elders, like me,
enjoyed a sunrise jaunt among the stately sentinels of time. Come, my
lordship, join me and I'll show you how a son's return affects a
father's legs. It's many a day since these old stokies of mind served me
as they have this morning. It reminds me of the time when a mother
brought you to my side. A happy day it was, and she lies up yonder, my
boy, in the tomb, behind the temple. You may not dislike going there
with your father--will you, this morning?"
Shibusawa may have anticipated the idea, for they set off together
toward the family shrine. The distance was not great nor the hill steep;
just enough to quicken old age and banter youth.
They did not tarry long at the tomb,--only long enough to revere the
dead and inspire the living,--but soon arose and retraced their steps a
short distance to where they seated themselves in the shade of the
temple. As they sat they could see afar over the samurai dwellings and
the noised-up city to the glassy bay in front, or over the castle
grounds to the left, or to the timbered hills on the right. There they
sat and talked at will. Now and then the conversation drifted back to
Shibusawa's absence, and each experience related touched more deeply the
father's slow but certain apprehension.
"I dare say there are no temples in that far-away land," said the lord
daimyo, more inquisitive than positive.
"Oh, yes, there are," was the young prince's quick rejoinder, "only they
are much larger and less beautiful. They worship in herds in that
country; and they have a paid supplicant to do the honours, while the
multitude sit and gape and snore. It's a great saving of time and
trouble, this European method of salvation."
"And have they gods?"
"Oh, yes; they have a God. The principle is just the same. It's only the
form that makes it different from ours."
"Ah, the practice! And after all, that is man's only reality: the ideal
is the grander existence. And do these strange worshippers have
habitations, and go about clad as we do?"
"They have houses--ours are not like theirs, thanks to good fortune--in
which the idea, as in their churches, is to get as many under one roof
as possible. They build floor over floor, and then wear their lives out
climbing from one to the other. They are not only herders but climbers
as well. Then the craze to encroach one upon another is so great that
all try to live at a few isolated spots. There are millions of broad
acres--the area is so great that for want of a comparison I cannot
convey to you anything but a hazed idea--upon which the sun shines and
over which the fresh air circulates, yet these people hang out of
ten-story windows and pant for breath or hide away in some dark, damp
rooms and stare their eyes out under the glare of firelight."
"Horrors! my son. And they would teach us how to live?"
"Not only that, but they cover the streets with rock and steel and then
force iron-wheeled cars over the rough surface or harsh-sounding rails
until the roar and the clatter make them deaf or drive them insane."
"Shocking!"
"And when they sleep at night they huddle together under the same quilt,
and when they arise and go about their walled dens or out upon the
filth-breeding, dust-driven streets they cover themselves with all sorts
of coarse material far rougher than our matting on the floor or the
material with which we sack our products of the field. Their feet are
bound up in close-fitting skins on which are nailed or sewn stiff
leather soles, and their heads are weighted down with all manner of hot,
ill-shaped and wind-catching hats or other gear."
"And is such their clothing?"
"Yes. And it is fashioned, mostly, so as to expose as much as possible
the person's form, or its lines, and it may be worn, or donned, in
piecemeal. It is only to be commended for street sweeping or fly
baiting. And what a mixture; and so untidy and so uncomfortable! It
makes me creep all over when I think of it, and of how they swelter on a
hot day and freeze on a cold one."
"What barbarians!"
"And their food! Well, I can best impress you with that by saying that
the cooks and doctors constitute a large percentage of the population,
and that the mortality resulting from the strife carried on between the
two classes, the one tearing down and the other building up, is hardly
less than frightful. The science of both is a constant assault upon the
stomach, with the odds so overwhelmingly in favour of the cooks that
life is reduced to an average period of only some thirty-three years.
And the taste, and the smell! Well, either is farthest removed from
nature's storehouse, and that is enough said, I warrant."
"And that is where you have been seeking knowledge all this time?"
"Yes; I spent only four of the five years at college, learning how to
cheat. Yes, cheat; that is the thing. First man, then nature. The
former, because it is easy; the latter, because it is progress. And if
the fructifications of a scientist, or a doctor, or a lawyer, or a
preacher, or a merchant, do not meet with your ideas of success, then
try the fortunes of a statesman or a warrior; and what you cannot get by
diplomacy, force with powder and shot."
"And that is what you call Christian civilisation?"
"It is so called."
"Then shame!"
"Even so, their progress is none the less."
"What is the secret?"
"The machine."
The conversation broke off there and they both sat for a long time
absorbed in study. The one looked backward, the other forward. Neither
was satisfied; man never is.
Presently Shibusawa began rambling over his experiences, relating first
an incident and telling afterwards of a conquest. His father's spirits
rose, and they laughed or marvelled together as an amusing episode or an
awkward situation came to mind. He told of how fortune had compelled him
to work his passage and earn his way from the time he left his native
land until he had returned; of how he had pushed on from place to place
until the American continent had been crossed, and how in the great city
of New York he had struggled to complete a course in college. And withal
he had been studious and so frugal that by the time he was graduated he
had saved enough from his earnings to pay his passage to Europe, thence
home again via the Suez Canal and Hong Kong.
His experiences had been somewhat unpleasant at first, but as time
passed and he had become accustomed to work he did not find the
necessities of the situation so irksome. Upon the whole he felt
contented with results, and believed that his search for knowledge had
not been amiss. Although he had been subjected to keen humiliation and
had met with much hardship, he harboured no ill-feeling toward the new
civilisation which he had encountered. He freely acknowledged that he
appreciated the impossibility of any assimilation between the Occident
and the Orient, and felt that while the one sojourned with the other he
needs must suffer a disadvantage.
"While I regret that I have given you cause for so much anxiety,"
continued Shibusawa, "I feel that I have done nothing to disgrace you,
and that the experience and knowledge gained will sometime serve us
well. In all things pertaining to life there must be a beginning, and
that I have been a pioneer I do not regret. I shall always endeavour to
make the best use of my opportunities, and I am now ready to take my
proper place."
"You have spoken well, my son, and Maido is proud."
Soon after, though late in the morning, they arose and wended their way
toward the castle, and as they went their interest gradually drifted to
matters at home, including the marriage of Nehachibana. Maido told his
son all about Takara's recent disappearance from Tokyo, but mentioned
only casually her sojourn with the Tetsutaishos. Though deeply
interested Shibusawa showed little concern about his wife, and no
criticisms were offered; he appreciated his father's situation in the
matter and resolved to be considerate. A deeper thought began to
reassert itself, growing anxiety took hold of him, and he soon became
wrapped with care only for Kinsan.