Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=UCQXAAAAYAAJ
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]; "y" with a circumflex
above by [^y]; "o" with a macron above by [=o].
THE CURSE OF KOSHIU.
_A CHRONICLE OF OLD JAPAN_.
BY
The Honble. LEWIS WINGFIELD,
AUTHOR OF
"LADY ORIZEL," "IN HER MAJESTY'S KEEPING," "ABIGEL ROWE,"
"BARBARA PHILPOT," ETC.
LONDON:
WARD & DOWNEY,
12 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
* * *
1888.
[_All Rights reserved_.]
EDINBURGH
COLSTON AND COMPANY
PRINTERS
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Boy and Girl.
CHAPTER II.
The Last Hojo.
CHAPTER III.
Married Life.
CHAPTER IV.
The Abbess gives Advice.
CHAPTER V.
The Farmer girds His Loins.
CHAPTER VI.
The Young Mikado.
CHAPTER VII.
The Farmer's Sentence.
CHAPTER VIII.
Destiny is Busy.
CHAPTER IX.
The Execution.
CHAPTER X.
Forebodings.
CHAPTER XI.
The Curse begins to Work.
CHAPTER XII.
The Daimio of Nara Begins to Work.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Despot obeys Orders.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Mikado does Business.
CHAPTER XV.
Will Buddha Speak?
CHAPTER XVI.
Masago takes the Reins.
CHAPTER XVII.
Under the Moon.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Face to Face.
CHAPTER XIX.
The Web Is Woven.
THE CURSE OF KOSHIU.
CHAPTER I.
BOY AND GIRL.
It was towards the end of the fourteenth century that the grandeur of
the Hojo family rose to its acme, then fell with awful crash. The
feudal story of the Land of the Rising Sun is a long dark chronicle of
blood and tears, of crime and rapine, of vengeance and vendetta, out
of which there glints at intervals a gleam of glorious heroism, of
holy devotion, of pure love and unsullied faith.
In the stately roll of the great names of old Japan, there is none so
terrible as Hojo. From time to time the patient people were ruled by
one race or another of despots, cruel and selfish; the most cruel of
all, the Hojos. Even now, after five hundred years of war and havoc,
of vain aspirations, power misused, and wrecked ambitions, mothers
still hush their babes to silence by breathing the dreaded name. The
most destructive insect that ravages the fairest island in the
world--the most voracious and omnivorous--is yet known as the Hojo
beetle. When the first of the line erected a strong fortress--the
Castle of Tsu, which will serve as background to many scenes in this
our chronicle--he gave to it a bloody baptism, by burying beneath the
foundations two hundred living men. Although their baleful course was
marked by an ensanguined streak like a gory finger drawn across a map,
they were not all black, these gruesome daimios, or even Buddha, whom
we know to be deaf, and prone to somnolence, would earlier in the day
have bestirred himself to punish them. Maybe Buddha drinks too much
sake, for though we piously crack our finger-joints, and beat our
palms, each morn at sunrise, and bang the gongs and pull the
bell-strings each evening in the temple, he recks little of mere
mundane worries, letting things go from bad to worse in grievous
fashion. And yet, once roused to wakefulness, his vengeance is swift
as the typhoon, as destructive and as sweeping.
No. The lurid Hojo cloud that for a hundred years brooded over
long-suffering Japan, had silver breaks in it. The Mikados, as nominal
rulers, dwelt at Ki[^y]oto; while the Shoguns, as military viceroys,
reigned at Kamakura; but the dominating family, as wire-pullers,
directed their movements from behind. The father of Hojo No-Kami, last
of the race, had his good points. None of his supercilious ancestors
was more superbly overbearing, more sublimely indifferent to human
pain; and yet his worst enemies were compelled to admit that, if
stern, his rule was sagacious. The Mikado, and his court of _kuges_ or
lords-in-waiting, shivered before him, for his dirk was loose in the
scabbard, and the order promptly to depart into another world by
uncompromising _harakiri_ was ever trembling on his lips. During his
career three emperors had been summoned to shave their heads and
retire into monkish solitude, each puppet bowled over in its turn for
daring to dispute his will; and yet the very fact of his disdaining to
mask the iron hand under the glove of silk, even in dealing with the
highest, compelled the unwilling admiration of his turbulent and
light-hearted countrymen.
The upper class--Samurai, two-sword men, hatamotos, soldiers--could
appreciate his martial bearing, as, in gallant bravery of scarlet
armour and gold-studded helm, he rode forth to battle, with his
martial wife beside him. For the beautiful Tomoye was a fit mother for
lion whelps. Of great personal strength as well as graceful carriage,
sheathed in armour like her lord, astride on a swift horse, she was
ever in the van of conflict. With her own hand she cut off the head of
a rival daimio who crossed swords with her; and when her lord died,
pierced through the heart by an arrow she fought till she fell beside
him. The lower class of the unarmed--mechanics, mere farmers,
paltry merchants--could also from their inferior standpoint admire
their ruler, whilst grieving at his rough treatment of the Holy
Mikado--mystic head of all--for he protected the workers of the hive
from the depredations of other tyrants. The burthen of taxes was
nicely weighed to suit the backs of the bearers. The ken of the Hojo
was as piercing, and minutely attentive to details, as it was
farsighted. A petition from the elders of the meanest village was sure
of immediate attention. No petty feudal master, however recklessly
bold or savagely contemptuous, dared to overstep his rights.
The result of the adamantine rule of the last Hojo but one was peace.
The land that was given over usually to turmoil and bloodshed, with
intervals of complete anarchy, enjoyed rest for fifteen years, during
which the despot set himself to consolidate his power, and fix yet
more firmly the family yoke on the necks of lords and people.
He had two sons, the elder of whom--by Japanese paradox--was treated
as if he had been the younger. Sampei, three years older than No-Kami,
was the offspring of a second wife or concubine. The latter,
heir-apparent, was the whelp of the war-queen Tomoye. Now in Japan
concubinage is a recognised institution, and the son of the handmaid
is no bastard. And yet the child of the bondwoman is not co-heir with
the child of the free. The latter, in the case of a great family, is
undisputed head of the clan, and to him the former owes allegiance,
however much older in years, in the same degree as lesser clansmen.
The institution is so firmly welded into the constitution of the land
as, save in a few cases, to preclude jealousy.
Of course, as in all Eastern countries, ambitious men have striven to
supplant their brothers--have hacked off their heads and reigned in
their stead--but this does not affect the principle. The two sons of
Hojo grew up side by side in perfect amity. Together they learned to
ride and wield the sword and spear under the approving gaze of their
martial parents. They were both soldiers--with a difference. Even
Tomoye was forced to admit that of the twain Sampei, son of the
concubine, was the most promising. His nature was clear and bright
as running water, simple and unsmirched, unlike that of the
heir-apparent. None more brave than he, more quick and skilful with
his weapons, more ready to smite hard and heavily; and yet on occasion
he could be soft and tender as a woman. A polished politeness and
chivalrous demeanour were so innate in him as to win the admiration of
the ladies. For seductive luxury he had nothing but contempt. No-Kami,
on the other hand, if brave and skilled in arms, was fierce and
selfish and debauched; overfond of the harem and perfumed bath and
sake cup; sullen, too, as an ill-conditioned animal; brutal to women,
ruthlessly tossing them aside like shattered toys when sated with
their charms. People nodded their pates and whispered of him the
timeworn proverb which says that there is no seed to a great man. In
sooth it has ever been a common thing in this otherwise favoured land
to see a great house crumble into speedy ruin through the supineness
and debauchery of its sons.
There was no need for anxiety as to the future of Sampei. A soldier
and a gentleman to the tips of his trim finger-nails, his career, in
the most war-ridden of countries, was carved clear before him. It came
to pass that Corea, conquered long since by the Amazon Empress Jingo,
threw off allegiance.. Who more fitted than doughty young Sampei to
reduce the rebel to obedience? Accordingly, five years before this
story opens, the gay young general, full of life and hope, and
rippling with high spirits, bade a respectful farewell to the father
he was never to see again, a more tender one of his fond mother,
Masago, who, like many another discarded concubine, was now the Abbess
of a convent, and sailed with a fleet and army for Corea, whence news
arrived from time to time, praising his deeds of valour.
As for the future of No-Kami, it was more difficult to prophesy, and
his parents were no little anxious. His prospects were splendid; but
although his father had endeavoured to foresee contingencies, and
build barriers against accidents, the path of the next tyrant must
needs be beset with thorns. His _role_ in the future would be arduous,
thick strewn with snares and difficulties. To keep the _entourage_ of
the Mikado in subjection--to hold the daimios--powerful and wealthy
princes as sturdy as the barons of the English John--in the requisite
condition of meekness, would require more statecraft, diplomacy, and
force of iron will, than could be expected of a model youth. And
No-Kami, as we have seen, was by no means a model youth. None knew
better than his astute and experienced parent how difficult to a young
man this task would prove; none was more distinctly aware of the frail
tenure of a despot's life. At any moment he, the father, might be
taken, and what then would happen to his boy?
Treachery stalks through the history of Japan. At any instant the
dominant Hojo might be murdered under his son's eyes. Would the
self-indulgent No-Kami be prepared with vigorous promptitude to avenge
the slain, and, seizing the dropped reins, pursue his policy? Both
father and mother sadly shook their heads. Even their partial vision
could not but perceive that the hope of the house was a leper,
abnormally sinful, inclined to become a sybarite. Was this young man
to be left to steer the bark without a pilot? Certainly not. In case
of anything unexpected arising, a staff must be prepared for him to
lean upon. A man must be placed by his side, old in years and in
experience, whose position and wisdom would command respect, whose
interest it would be to bestow sound advice and timely sage reproof.
What better guide than a prudent father-in-law? What surer loadstone
to lure an embryo debauchee from the muddy byways of low company than
a beautiful patrician bride? one of the pure and slender, refined and
high-bred maidens of noble lineage--fair and sweet as the fragrant
mountain-lily--who now, as five hundred years ago, are the brightest
glory of Japan.
A crafty combination this on the part of the warrior-statesman, which
would doubtless have been crowned with success, if he had not chanced
to live in a world where mischievous spirits delight in frustrating
plans the most cleverly matured. Tomoye heard, and listened dubiously.
Even among the most elevated Japanese, as well as in the highest
European circles, papas and mammas will differ as to the ideal bride.
What was the precise article that would suit No-Kami? Unfortunately
there was not time to have one specially ordered. Since perfection is
chary of repetition, it was not to be expected that another Tomoye--a
stern yet loving lioness--could be found for the precious youth.
Indeed, so recreant a scion was he of the stock, that he might have
objected possibly to a muscular and fiery wife whose pastime was the
chopping of heads. And yet not so. A true lion-whelp was he in blood
enjoyment. Even the low-born _Geisha_ singing girls who stocked his
harem, had often cried under his buffets, and shouted shame, with
tears, at his barbarous treatment of his servants.
Alas! how sad it is that even the most sapient in mundane experience
will be guilty of errors sometimes that are patent to the lesser fry.
Is it over-anxiety that blinds them? The problem was to put the finger
on a great noble--daimio among daimios--who could compare in descent
and grandeur _almost_ with the line of Hojo; who, of weight in
counsel, and rather cool than hot, would stem precipitate rashness. He
must have no son, and but one daughter, and devoid therefore of the
ambition which accompanies male issue, must adopt his daughter's
husband as his son; and by thus uniting the two families in closest
bonds, make their interests identical. The child of the magnate (given
that the two were found) must be mentally perfect, and a vision of
corporeal loveliness.
"My dear!" quoth the broad-shouldered but practical Tomoye, as with
one eye critically closed she assayed the temper of a brand new sword.
The lady was apt to get vexed when her lord grew warm and garrulous.
"My dear," she observed, "we have many rounds of mortal life to climb
ere, reaching the summit, we attain Nirvana. Though you are good
enough to be blind to my blemishes, even I am not quite perfect.
Perfection, in our present low cycle, is so very scarce, you know."
With this she beamed upon her lord, whilst artlessly belying her words
by approvingly fingering her muscles. She was inwardly aware, with
pardonable pride, that no other daimio's daughter could boast such an
arm as hers.
My lord was provoked, and rubbed his nose. When you are erecting airy
towers, practical people are exasperating. It was evident she had
gained a point, so she proceeded to follow it up.
"Where in broad Japan do you propose to seek these paragons? This pink
of perfect daimios, and his yet more model child?"
There was a tendency to irreverence in this tone, which required
nipping in the bud. The eye of the Mikado's master shot forth a gleam,
before which even the lioness cowered. When his mind was made up, the
Hojo brooked no argument.
"Be it as you will!" Tomoye dutifully murmured. "My lord is all-wise,
all-powerful; his wife his willing slave. Go forth and seek the
paragons, and let us hope you will find them soon."
To please him whom she loved best on earth, Tomoye made believe to be
convinced; and yet her woman's tact whispered down in the deep
recesses of her manly bosom, that my lord, for all his wiliness, was
wrong; that he was building a fool's paradise far up in [OE]ther, out
of which her dear boy might tumble.
Curious to relate, the paragons concerning whom she was tempted to be
disrespectful were not far to seek. With but little hocus-pocus father
and daughter were conjured on the scene, as absolutely the "very
thing," to all appearance, as the cunning Hojo had conceived them. He
declared as much at least, and dutiful Tomoye acquiesced, slightly
pinching her lips in silent protest. Instead of the "very thing" which
was to bring about complete success before its time in our weary
pilgrimage of cycles, the mother's instinct beheld with prophetic
vision, in the proposed alliance, the worst elements of discord and
defeat,--of so dire and dread a tragedy as should shake Japan to its
centre, and annihilate the dominating house. Yet who was she, the
warrior wife reflected in her humility, to set up puny instincts
against the ripened statecraft of my lord? Her muscles were better
than her brains. Should she presume to know more than he who held in
his hand Mikado, nobles, people?--whose nod was law in the land
beloved of Buddha? who had preserved it from contamination from
without? Her place was to bend before the will of the dictator, and
offer prayers for her husband and her son.
* * * * *
The most perfectly poetic spot in all poetic Japan, whose ensanguined
history is made beauteous to the eye of a fastidious posterity by the
flora of chivalry and valour, is Nara.
Lovely and secluded, sweet-smelling and umbrageous Nara! The Nara of
to-day--how much more the Nara of five hundred years ago--suggests to
the incursive foreigner a bit of Eden's garden.
In very early times the central mart of Japanese opulence (which ebbed
by-and-by to Ki[^y]oto), it came after a while to be recognised as the
special home of holiness. Accepting the better part, it exchanged the
shimmering sham glory of mundane ambition for the sheen reflected from
above. Some twenty miles from Ki[^y]oto--time-honoured residence of
Mikados, and therefore a sacred city--the small town of Nara stands on
a plain surrounded by rugged hills. Passing through low grey streets,
leaving on the left a huge and ornate pagoda, you enter a tangle of
wild greenery--an ideal wood of immense cryptomerias darkling skyward
after light. A jungle of variegated foliage, so sweet and fresh, masks
half their altitude, while the undulating ground beneath is broken
into verdant waves chequered with blossoms of all hues. This forest is
vast and silent, save where a white-robed group of pilgrims saunters
along its glades--undefended by barriers, save those of religious
custom. And what more tough than they? If sprightly and given to
skull-cracking, the Japanese live in terror of their deities, who
without exception are vindictive. Buddha and the lesser lights
are awful and threatening and ever-present, and the favourite
hunting-grounds of Buddha are the hallowed groves of Nara.
The thickets teem with game. All kinds of coy animals which usually
flee at sight of man, here hold undisputed sway. The intruder is on
their territory, and they let him know it. The timorous doe stands
with soft unstartled eyes across the path, sniffing with moist
nostrils the expected cake. And if the white-clad pilgrim should have
striven to combine economy with cure of soul by investing in cheap
offerings, the scornful stag and his following will shake their ears,
and bound away to relate to the gods the insult. With head on one
side, birds look critically down from boughs, nor think of flight;
hares, taught by impunity, instead of making off, white scut in air,
groom nose with paw, undaunted.
Hidden away, centre of an intricate labyrinth--enclosed in many
courts, each hung with myriad lamps in bronze-like fringes round the
eaves--stands the Holy of Holies, Buddha's hunting-box, wherein a band
of virgins perform weird shinto rites for the behoof of awe-struck
pilgrims. At stated seasons this bevy of priestesses, emerging from
strict retirement, performs the _kagura_, a slow swanlike measure,
with many and intricate figures and waving of fans and bells and
kerchiefs, accompanied by priestly flutes--which (doubtless good for
the soul, since its weary length is interminable) is soothing also to
ear and eye, for the ladies are graceful and slender in their loose
red trousers and gossamer robes, their long locks flowing as they
float to and fro, with a background of gold screens, and beyond the
antique forest. How peaceful a life, free from sordid cares, must
these holy damsels lead! Far from the fretful striving of the churlish
world--its hate and jealousy and bitterness and disillusion--no call
to arms or shock of war invades this calm retreat. They share
ungrudgingly their Eden with the beasts and butterflies, guileless and
content as they, strumming the three-stringed samisen, sailing through
maze of solemn _kagura_, doing tender service in the temple.
Among the troop of maidens was one who wore no religious habit.
Although she had taken no vows, priests and virgins loved her as much
as if one of themselves. Brought up among them with the hares and
birds for comrades, as stately and as gentle as the deer, she shared
from childhood, being motherless, their pure and contemplative life.
Strangers often said that the fairest thing in lovely Nara was the
tall and pale O'Tei. Some compared her to the unblown white lotos as
it sways dreamily in the breeze. Others dubbed her pearl; but later
all agreed that young Sanjo the armourer was delivered of the neatest
simile when he fashioned a white fawn of purest silver and gave it to
the maiden for a hairpin. As a child she had always been still and
given to day-dreams, peering into the flowers as if she could read
secrets there, or gazing into the opal sky in search of angels, or
watching the pallid stars as they glimmered forth out of the deepening
blue. Yet was she as gay as the chirping cicadas in the trees, as
light and fleet as her four-footed friends, as, pattering on dainty
clogs in wayward mood, she would leave the forest for the town, and
peeping in at Sanjo's, shake an arch finger at the brawny armourers,
while they wiped their swart brows, and laughed.
It was by a whimsical coincidence that the celebrated family of Sanjo,
from time immemorial armourers in chief to the Mikados, as the
Miochins were to the Shoguns, should have set up the forge, emblem of
war, hard by the sacred wood, the type of peace. But so it was.
Indeed, as I write, the existing Sanjos occupy the ancestral dwelling.
They are poor now. Their occupation is gone, for civilisation and
European ways have stepped in and ruined them. At the period which
occupies us, the blowing of the forge-bellows and the welding of iron
on the anvil were in curious contrast to the surrounding calm. Many
lords who came hither in pilgrim guise to improve their soul's estate,
looked in at Sanjo's ere they went away, to buy new blades and armour.
The holy forest was an oasis of peace in a world of uproar; for was
not the castle of the powerful lord of Nara but a mile beyond the
town; and did not close by (happily concealed by a hill from his proud
gaze) the fortress of the Daimio of Osaka rear its majestic front,
home of his hereditary foe? Of course it was enough for two great
feudal lords to dwell cheek by jowl for them to hate one another
cordially. These two were as jealous as two rival beauties. The outer
moat at Nara was wider than that of my lord of Osaka, but then the
interior of Osaka's stronghold was the more splendid, and its armoury
more richly furnished. Hence frowns and jibes and backbitings from
generation to generation, varied now and then by siege or battle,
accompanied by fire and massacre.
Among the many who were firm friends of the Sanjos, was, naturally
enough, Sampei. Of course, so gallant a young gentleman could wear no
armour but Sanjo's, could wield no sword but one that bore his mark.
One morning, standing beside the anvil, and laying down the law to an
obsequious audience, on military subjects, he beheld, framed in the
doorway, such a delightful vision, that his heart gave a great thump,
and he dropped the precious blade, whose temper he was critically
testing by the bisecting of a coin. It was only for a second. Startled
by the apparition of a distinguished stranger, and grown unaccountably
bashful of a sudden, the blushing and beautiful O'Tei cried Oh! and,
turning on her clogs, scampered back into the wood, whither the
inflammable Sampei would swiftly have followed, had he not been
restrained by the armourer.
"Beware!" the latter whispered, grasping him tightly by the skirt.
"That maid is not for thee! The heiress of the Daimio of Nara will
look higher than a soldier of fortune!"
Sampei laughed, to conceal his annoyance. It is exasperating and
humiliating too, to a handsome young soldier, who as such adores the
sex, to be bluntly informed that the loveliest girl whom he has ever
looked upon is hopelessly out of reach. And yet he could not deny that
his friend was right. The White Fawn of Nara might never be his, for
one so noble and so fair could command the most splendid of _partis_.
But was that any reason why he should not look at her? He was
heartwhole. No doubt of that. His soul was devoted to his sword; but,
as dashing young warriors have done time out of mind, he liked to
dally with maidens, and the prettier they were the better. Instead of
purchasing a blade and departing straightway, he all at once became
fastidious. This one was too light; that one ill-balanced.
Japan is the land of blades. From the tail of the Dragon was born the
sword which the Sun-goddess bestowed on the first Emperor. By the
sword of the clustering clouds, Yamato-Dake subdued the East. It was
quite fitting that our young general should be particular. Sanjo
produced in vain his rarest achievements. There was "Knee-cutter" and
"Beard-divider," unrivalled masterpieces, which Sanjo himself so loved
that he had always declined to part with them. But there was no
satisfying this capricious and arrogant youth. Sanjo would be good
enough to set himself to work and create an inspiration; and Sampei,
to whom time had all at once become no object, would remain at Nara
and superintend the progress of the miracle. And so it came about that
the blade, taking long to make, O'Tei (curious, after the fashion of
maidens) came pattering along the street, just to see if the young
warrior was gone. Oddly enough, he was still there; with face towards
the door too. This was well, if strange; for he was comely; extremely
civil, to boot; courteous, and vastly respectful; could troll rich
snatches of merry song, and tell diverting tales with dancing eye and
glittering teeth; while as for his smile, it did one good to bask
under it--so bright it was, so warm and genial, exuberant with
bubbling youth.
The brawny workers at the anvil vowed with grins and nudges that 'twas
charming to watch these two--she, the type of the patrician beauty of
her country--complexion of palest olive, nose aquiline, cheek bones a
trifle high, perfectly moulded chin and throat, eyes and hair a deep
black, the former raised the least little bit in the world at the
outer corners--as she lounged in a steely _kimono_ of finest crape
drawn up over one of scarlet. And he was in his way as bonny a
spectacle. Exceeding dark of skin; of low stature, as are most of the
Japanese, but admirably proportioned and muscular; his luxuriant sable
locks (shaven away in the centre, lest the eyes should be obscured in
battle), fastened in two tresses at the back, while a becoming blue
fillet bound his temples, knotted at the side in a bow.
I am afraid I must admit at once that Sampei, to whom I am very
partial, was a sad flirt. He invented appalling tales of death and
slaughter, for the pleasure of seeing the cheek of O'Tei grow whiter,
then set himself to woo the delicate sea-shell colour back with
well-timed jest; and was flattered and pleased to find that he could
learn to play upon her as on some fragile instrument. To the girl his
radiant advent was a strange and wondrous break in the sweet monotony
of years,--a revelation like the raising of some veil that masks the
infinite; and she marvelled vaguely whether the perfumed wood would
hold so rich a charm when _he_ was no longer there to rouse the echoes
with his laughter. Hand in hand they wandered--artless children--while
the soft-eyed deer peeped out at them approvingly. They visited her
favourite haunts; the open glade where the glorious lilies grew in
clusters--lemon-yellow, or white, brown centred; where the great
jewelled butterflies tumbled low along like junks under heavy sail;
where beds of scarlet blossoms like geraniums nestled in sheets on the
bank of a crystal stream--home of flights of glittering dragon-flies,
black and iron-blue, like the cohorts of the warlike Osaka. And then
the sharp _twee twee_ of the cicadas, answering or calling one another
out of the deep stillness of the canopy above, the boom of the hoarse
bees, the buzzing of gossamer wings, the click of the cricket, the hum
of the myriad tiny voices up in the dense green, which joining in
harmonious chorus form a silence--a haven of solitude and rest.
It was not possible to linger in the shadowed aisles whose pillars
were the giant cryptomerias, without feeling subdued and softened; and
a suspicion flitted more than once across the mind of the young
soldier that perchance the career of hurly-burly and the clash of
steel were a mistake, the contemplative life a better. What happier
method of getting through the cycle than to muse away the years, till
called to go, with gentle O'Tei, and the forest, and the animals? And
then, the sylvan influence and flash of the clear eyes removed, Sampei
would wake and shake himself in distress, and know that the ground was
dangerous. The contemplative life was good for girls and shaven
priests, and men who had succumbed in the battle. Youths with lives
spread out before like a trail of moonlight on the sea, must gird up
their loins and elbow their way through the medley. Too long already
had the young General dallied, wasting time. And yet, not wasting, for
he and she were to be friends for life--that was quite settled--dear
brother and loving sister, trusting each other without question,
certain, in moments of emergency, of the completest helpfulness and
sympathy. It was delicious to possess such a sister, a soft warm
sunspot on his harsh career; more she might never be, and he
recognised that this was well.
Her gentleness unnerved his arm, he was wont jestingly to say, for her
nature was woven of such frail glass threads that just as the rush of
the herd snapped the slender lily-stems, a rude puff of wind might
shatter it. Some day she would find a suitable husband, and her
adopted brother would love him for her sake; and then they would
recline in the long grass and fall a-talking of what the lucky mortal
would be like. To match with the perfection of O'Tei he must be a
perfect creature. Not a bluff soldier like Sampei. No, that would
never do, for like a tender plant must the dear maid be cherished. To
the end must the White Fawn be screened from din of war and rude
surroundings. Poor hearts! They were both so young and ignorant and
hopeful. They knew not how futile a pastime is the building of
air-palaces. They were unaware that Fate is a sad marplot, and that if
we plan a matter in a certain way, it will surely come out quite
otherwise.
The Shinto virgins were somewhat scandalised by the romantic
proceedings of the fair O'Tei and the too good-looking General. They
were disinclined to approve of him, for they knew he had said that,
with faces painted a dead white, eyebrows at top of foreheads, and
long flat hair well-oiled, they looked like the dolls of Asakusa. A
ribald military person was not expected to have taste, or to know
wherein lies true beauty, but he might show more respect for youthful
gorgons. O'Tei did little credit, they averred, with tart displeasure,
to her education. If she pined for male society, was not the temple
full of holy bonzes? The heiress of Nara showed lamentable signs of
incipient depravity. What business had she with Sanjo, the common
armourer? She who, wayward always and inconsistent, when taught like
every prospective chatelaine to wield a pike, had been wont to toss
down the silver-mounted weapon, with a pout, vowing that she hated
fighting.
Things could not go on as they were, for the situation was a false
one. Sanjo grew nervous. If the Daimio of Nara, who as Kuge or court
noble lived usually at Ki[^y]oto in attendance on the Emperor, were to
hear that his only child, instead of innocently floating through mazes
of _kagura_, was using his (Sanjo's) forge for flirting purposes with
an ineligible man who was the son of a concubine, there would be
trouble; and Sanjo was not unaware of the parable concerning iron pots
and earthen pipkins. All were relieved, therefore, except O'Tei, who
was hazy as to her own sentiments, when the news arrived that the
rebellion in Corea was to be quelled, and that Sampei was to command
the expedition.
When brother and sister parted, O'Tei clung round the neck of the
youth, and, weeping bitterly, shivered she knew not why. Lovingly he
kissed her brow, and disengaged himself from her embrace, and was more
than ever certain as he rode away that, perfect in a congenial sphere,
as wife of some grandee who would appreciate her gentle excellence,
his sweet and sensitive sister would make the worst of consoles for
one whose trade was war.