THE MIKADO DOES BUSINESS.
Since the return of Nara from his mysterious excursion, the interior
of the sad prison-house of the Mikado was quite lively. The kneeling
kuges chirruped like birds; their tall black headdresses waved and
nodded like sable plumes in the wind. Excitement being contagious, the
un-elect, who might not step within the sacred halls, laughed too and
gabbled on the outer verandahs, showing their white teeth, and
gossiping hopefully. They wist not why they were so light of heart;
but if the privileged denizens of the lugubrious dwelling, usually so
glum, were gay, it meant that the Holy Mikado was well pleased; and if
the Fountain of Honour was content, it was clearly the duty of them,
his lowly faithful ones, to vie one with another in sympathy.
After that terrible interview when he was publicly insulted before his
court, the miserable Mikado retired into darkness, declining to emerge
or to be comforted. He vowed that the three deposed Emperors who were
mumbling prayers in remote monasteries were far better off than he,
for they at any rate were left in peace, so long as they submitted
quietly, and were pitied as well as loved by the Empire. The actual
Emperor, so long as he seemed to reign, was held responsible for what
was done, and he, unfortunately for himself, was of a conscientious
turn of mind. The peasant man who, alas, too trusting, had confided
himself to the safe keeping of the Holy One, had been torn from
sanctuary, ignominiously executed, together with his innocent family,
and the Fountain of Honour was aware that in the eyes of the people he
must be a willing accomplice, or else the meanest of puppets. His
conscience was torn by pincers. He ought somehow to have saved that
family. Humiliation and shame gnawed into his vitals, as rusty gyves
into the wrists. No slavery, he declared, while he crouched in his
dark chamber, with drops of sweat upon his brow, could possibly be
worse than his. A change of masters, if master he must have, would be
for the better, since his plight could not be altered for the worse.
Not the lowest coolie,--the meanest Eta in his dominions, was of less
account than he. If all these chattering kuges, who prostrated
themselves so humbly, drawing in breath like humming insects,
professing profound devotion, would only do something practical, then
would he, the Fountain, sparkle with gratitude, and profusely
distribute benedictions.
Nara was a provoking person. Wise as an owl in aspect, his wisdom was
much an imposture as that of the sapient bird. As usual he exhorted to
patience, droned platitudes through his nose. The friends of that
much-tried individual on a dunghill, whom Christians had been heard to
prate about, were no more exasperating. When the octopus holds you
with his tentacles in fell embrace, you must summon all your strength
in a supreme effort to tear him piecemeal. A series of small struggles
are mere waste of tissue. The Hojo, as all within the holy prison
house were painfully aware, was a portentous octopus, more awful than
any of the forbidding monsters, with arms of five feet and more, that
are to be seen any day in the fish-market.
Those who would measure lances with him must be cautious--very
cautious. Perhaps, looking back on history, the Fountain might
remember Yoriiye, son of Yoritomo the Great, who, banished to the
temple of Idzu, was compelled to shave off his hair. Objecting, he
rebelled, and, to the general dismay, was found strangled one morning
in his bath. The present Fountain was young and impetuous, a boy, and
ignorant, and must learn to smile and wait--to smile and smile--and
_strike!_ That he should have resolved on a change at any cost, was
well. His trusty lords would beat about and see what was to be done.
Doth not the ratcatcher's cat hide her claws?--to serve her end
perform miracles? With the stirring of the wind the heron rises from
the stream. A little faith, and patience.
It was fortunate for the conspirators, headed by Nara, that after his
deplorable exhibition of cruelty at Tsu the tyrant should remain
quiescent. The snake, for the moment gorged, was comatose. Taking
advantage of his absence and inaction, the Daimio of Nara threw his
spies broadcast over the land--sent letters to absent magnates
inviting them to unite and march for the emancipation of their lord
from serfdom. He even sent privately to the Shogun at Kamakura,
declaring that if any one was despot in future it should be he, since,
by virtue of his post, he was the first General of the Empire, the
legitimate leader of her armies. If the Hojo had been at Ki[^y]oto,
and awake, these proceedings would have been at once detected, and
crushed with an iron hand. Why was he so quiet in his distant castle?
When the message from Masago arrived, declaring that the Daimio of Tsu
was sinking into lowest debauchery, willing victim of a harlot, Nara
thanked the gods, and rushed to his imperial master. The other item in
the communication--concerning the position of his own daughter--was a
trifle. She also must practise patience. She would be amply avenged
for present torment at the same time as the Holy Mikado. Was not this
grand news, well worth a little waiting--a little suffering? Had he
not been right--he, the hoary one, the sage, the experienced, the
prudent? They had waited, and the moment was at hand. In exultant joy
he flung himself headlong on the mat, and embraced his master's feet.
Of course the latter was glad that evil should befall his tyrant; but
Nara was always more glib with tongue than sword. A little patience,
quotha. For patience the times were out of joint. A little action now.
Answers arrived from east and west, from north and south--some
bellicose and ardent, some timid and time-serving. The Fountain of
Honour deigned to come out of darkness like a snail out of its shell;
but as he lay supported on his hand in the centre of the floor, his
mien was so troubled, his young brow so puckered and scowling, that
the kuges squatting around in a circle sat wistful, with heads on one
side--motionless. For hours and hours he remained as inanimate as
they--lost in gloomy thoughts and dumb abstraction. The prospect was
too halcyon. The tyrant, firm in the toils of a low woman, might
become sodden and besotted. What of the other--no less than he a
Hojo--the idol of the army, bravest of the brave? The soul of loyalty
(or his face belied him), he would stand by his brother, a tower of
strength in an emergency.
Plausible and garrulous and self-deceiving as old men are wont to be,
Nara had been quite wrong in his estimate of General Sampei. He, the
General, had appeared distressed at the proceedings of his feudal
superior. And yet could it be denied that he had calmly attended and
approved that shocking massacre,--had stood by with hands before him
while infants were slaughtered,--had remained on the premises ever
since, perfectly composed and comfortable? His face was a lying mask
then. He was as bad, every bit, as his brother,--as much to be feared
and hated; for since it was clear that he approved his acts, he would,
of course, stand by him to the death.
Nara rubbed his chin, and whilst confessing that that much of the
problem was at present not quite so clear as was desirable, stoutly
declared that if the distant chiefs could succeed in quietly gathering
their adherents, and, unsuspected, mass them within distance of the
capital the desired end would be attained, Sampei or no Sampei. The
Hojo must be lulled in false security, and awake to a sense of danger
only in time to perish. In order to reconnoitre the ground, he, the
veteran, would stir his old bones and pay a visit to his son-in-law.
There would be naught in this to raise suspicion, for what could be
more natural than that a fond parent should make a pilgrimage to visit
his only child?
He went, as we have seen, and in due course returned, so jubilant and
radiant that even his glum master perforce believed in him. Their
prayers were heard. The gods were sick of tyranny. The despot,
blindfold, was marching to his fate. His foot was on the edge of the
abyss. As the Fountain of Honour in his inspired wisdom had pointed
out, Sampei was loyal to his chief, so far, but he was evidently full
of disgust, uncertain what he ought to do, harried and worried,
wretched. The citadel was more than half undermined already. He, the
brilliant general, soldier to his finger nails, moved in a centre of
undisciplined debauchery; listess, unshocked, uninterested. Why, a
handful of ronins could take and sack in a trice the castle once
deemed impregnable! The guards were wrapped in drunken sleep, the
sentinels, absent from their posts, were engaged in uproarious wassail
Not a peasant for miles around but would hail with joyous relief the
advent of a new master; not a farmer or artizan but, with full faith
in Koshiu's dying words, would look on No-Kami's downfall as
retribution heaven-born. Nothing would be easier than, guided by
peasants, to march trusty troops by night through the mountain defiles
and take the castle by surprise. Sampei, half-hearted as he was, and
preternaturally listless, would acquiesce in the inevitable (would be
only too glad to do so), and, his brother slain--no longer tied by
fealty--would appear in his true colours. In the absence of their
hereditary chief, the braves of Tsu would lose their heads, throw down
their arms. For the stronghold must fall in the absence of the Hojo,
or the prestige that hung around his dignity might save him after all.
Just see how cautiously and well-prepared were the plans of the
veteran counsellor. Hojo must be summoned to Ki[^y]oto on some
business; then sent back with a reproof, to fall into a skilfully-set
trap. Admitted within the walls that were once his own--but which
would have surrendered in his absence--he could be seized and bound,
and, in this plight, covered with the green net of dishonour, be
exhibited before awed crowds, as a sermon against vaulting ambition.
So fluent was the old man, so completely self-convinced, that the
Mikado revived and sat up, while the eyes of the circle of kuges
goggled in their heads with mingled admiration and alarm. No-Kami, as
we have seen, was sent for in peremptory fashion. The Fountain
suggested timidly that this was rash, perhaps; and then old Nara
laughed loud and long and savagely.
"Time was, O Holy One!" he cried, with wagging headpiece, "when 'twas
I who prated of prudence. Now I say be brave! There is naught to fear:
his claws are cut. I have looked on him! There is terror in his
bloodshot eyes, dread in his shaking hands and shuffling footsteps.
The dying farmer called down a curse, and it works visibly, for his
confidence in himself has gone--his belief in a lucky star!"
All this was vastly refreshing to the inhabitants of the palace,
accustomed as they were to groaning. The Mikado, with mind at ease,
sat on his lacquered chair within the white-curtained tent, and gave
audience to all and sundry. The weather was bitterly cold.
A cutting wind blew down from the hills, sheeted last night with snow.
Nevertheless, so benignantly disposed was he, that the Fountain of
Honour ordered the shutters of the Great Hall to be removed, that
those without might see him, and fall in ecstasy upon their faces.
With a hibachi of fine bronze before him, clad in wadded robes with
seven linings, his wizened visage was cut clear against the background
by the towering black gauze leaf that he only of mortals was permitted
to wear erect. Despite his wadding and his charcoal he was chilly; but
what matters that when the heart is warm, the spirits high? The moment
of triumph was approaching when he would claim an eye for an eye and a
tooth for a tooth,--exact a cry of pain for each that himself had
uttered. Since the despot was already so stricken by outraged Buddha
as to be spiritless, he, the Fountain, would improve the occasion when
the culprit arrived, in order that all might perceive and applaud the
seasonable resumption of his free will and dignity. Openly now he
discussed with assembled kuges each succeeding step. Troops were
already moving silently, under cover of the dark, towards the castle.
Others were approaching from afar in the direction of the central
rendezvous. On the arrival of the culprit--news had already been
received of his starting--he should be solemnly arraigned and
admonished, then banished in disgrace to his lands at Tsu. There he
would fall into the snare, be brought back with every mark of insult
and ignominy to the capital--and then--and then! What was to happen
after that was too delicious to be too promptly settled. It was a
morsel to be turned over and over on the tongue, not swallowed with a
gulp.
Both Fountain and attendant kuges were never weary now of discussing
"what then?" Of course, the last thing of all was to be harakiri. This
means of final exit he could justly claim by right of name and
lineage. But before the final tragedy there might, if skilfully
thought out, be endless shades of moral torture; and the kuges,
squatting in a row, crumpled their foreheads and stared at the gold
ceiling in the delightful travail of conception. Every one had an idea
which required to be examined and considered, sifted, accepted, or
rejected. Meanwhile the Fountain dribbled out wisdom, encouraged
brains to nimbleness, distributed applause. One of the nobles had an
inspiration, whereon all his fellows cackled. There was a punishment
that none had endured for years, but which might be revived with
advantage for the behoof of the fallen Hojo. In a public place, before
the assembled populace, a series of the lowest and dirtiest Etas were
to be placed in a long line, with straddled legs, and under the arcade
thus formed--a pilgrimage of consummate degradation--the humbled
noble, on hands and knees, was to be condemned to crawl. An admirable
suggestion! Traitorous nobles condemned to this ordeal had been known
to die from very shame--their soul crushed out of them, ere half the
journey was accomplished. Sure the proud-stomached Hojo would not
survive, and thus would go out of the world deprived of the honour of
harakiri.
The Mikado, enchanted, could conjure up the scene. He longed for the
moment to arrive when the culprit, erst so domineering, would shuffle
in, nervous and unstrung. A new and charming sensation this to one who
was wont himself to quiver. Yes, he longed for the moment, but the
wretch should not be admitted at once. Certainly not. He should be
shown his place; he who had ridden roughshod should be kept waiting in
an ante-room. He----Hark! what sound was that? Rapid and dreadfully
familiar? Could it indeed be? A footfall, too well known, was creaking
quickly along the bare boards of the corridor. Shuffling, forsooth! it
was as brisk and elastic as of yore. With a glance of dismayed
reproach the Mikado turned to Nara, then concealed behind a fan his
burning face. Nara frowned, surprised. The crouching kuges twittered.
Mice gambol when their hereditary foe is slumbering; then, when the
green gleaming eyes re-open, scuffle into holes. For these poor mice
there were no holes. The footstep was crunching--crunching on their
hearts. Though it approached more near, more near, with dreadful
swiftness, they might not move, since no shelter was at hand, and they
had not wings to fly. Alack! with idle presumption they had uncorked a
bottle, and out had popped a gin that spread his bat's pinions over
the sky with stifling sulphurous stench.
Dread in his shaking hand indeed! Oh, Nara! Nara! Peeping nervously
between his fan-sticks, as the commanding figure that he knew too well
darkened the doorway, the Fountain of Honour perceived a threatening
outline in which there was no sign of decadence. As with hand lightly
poised on hip, and proud head raised, the Hojo strode into the
Presence, the Mikado marked that he was pale and thin, but his eye, if
bloodshot, was piercing as ever--fierce as the untamed eagle's. That
Nara, who boasted of experience and acumen, should be so grievously
taken in. Well, well! it was all the fault of that old fool. The
embroglio was of his making; it must be for him to get them out of the
hobble.
But Nara, save for a deepening line between the brows, and teeth that
bit the lip, seemed unaware of the apparition. Red and wrinkled lids
blinked over glazed eyes which stared stonily into space from under a
white and shaggy penthouse. The Daimio of Tsu, erect and menacing,
glanced slowly down at the assembled lords, who, with bent backs, were
contemplating the floor--then at the fan and bundle of silks which
concealed the Fountain of Honour--then at the crowd without, who stood
with craned necks on the verandahs, or grouped about the garden. From
between his fan-sticks the Mikado followed the motions of the despot
with increasing trepidation.
If only he dared to command the closing of the doors--but his tongue
refused its office. Instinct told him that the cup of disgrace was
again to be presented to his lips, and that it would be more bitter
than ever to the taste. How hard was fate! Every one of the court
circle--hatamotos, lords, knights, dependants--was to witness the
unpleasing ceremony.
As the Daimio stood quietly glancing round without a word, the silence
became each second less endurable. By bearing and power of eye,
combined with an eloquent past, the tyrant held them cowed. Insolent!
He had presumed to appear in the presence in ordinary garb,--had not
deigned to don the _Uye-no-Bakama_; or the regulation white silk
shirt, or _[=O] Katabira_. And the attitude of the courtiers, too! A
pack of grovelling cowards! fine weather friends. A minute since they
were gabbling, one against another, of future deeds of prowess--of
dazzling achievements; now not one among the startled herd had courage
to sacrifice himself--to save his lord from the dilemma. Piteously the
Mikado looked at Nara, who made no response; then--since it was
absolutely essential that some one should break the silence--he closed
his fan and whispered meekly,--
"Lord Hojo, you are welcome."
No-Kami smiled, and remarked shortly,--
"Very welcome, doubtless. As I came hither I heard a sound of
mirth--now all sit mumchance. Had I not received a special summons, I
should have deemed I had intruded."
The smile and accents of studied courtesy were more galling than rude
speech, to which all were well accustomed. 'Twas as when a tamer of
animals flicks them playfully with a wand. They are too docile to need
whipping, yet, pending possible contingencies, 'tis wholesome that
they should receive a tap.
Suddenly dropping the tone of banter, the Daimio strode nearer to his
master, and sternly said,--
"May I know why I was summoned? No matter. I have come, and, being
here, will ask a question. We are at peace, I think. During the weeks
of my retirement I have heard no news of war. Why, then, a stir of
arms,--a movement of troops,--marching, countermarching in the night?
What is the subject of offence?--is it with China or Corea?"
The sinister eye of No-Kami fell upon Nara, who calmly responded,--"I
know nothing."
"You lie!" retorted the Hojo fiercely. "Oh, base and double-faced and
craven! False and deceitful is the blood of Nara--rotten is stock and
branch! You and your daughter are alike."
Without changing his attitude one tittle, the old man slightly raised
his brows.
"My daughter!" he said, with exceeding calm. "Forbear to breathe her
name. You have broken her heart; driven her to the gate of Death. I
ought to have known that none but a savage was a fit mate for Hojo."
"Pretty innocent!" sneered No-Kami, lashing himself to frenzy as he
advanced towards Nara, hand raised as if to smite. "Know that your
pure white blossom is my brother's paramour!"
A flush passed over the grim features of the old Daimio, then left
them pale. His master nervously scanned the kuges, whose heads were
bent lower than ever. From no quarter was there succour against this
octopus. The Mikado fairly jumped in his seat when No-Kami spoke
again.
"You, boy," he said, "see to this matter of the troops. They were
summoned without your knowledge, I am willing to believe, by others,
who never troubled to consult one so feeble. Or shall I, since you
have called me to your side, undertake to relieve you of the task?
Letters shall be despatched forthwith to the effect that 'twas a false
alarm, bred of mischief and malice,--that the ronins may be disbanded,
the men returned to their homes. I shall remain for the present at the
Golden House, ready with my humble service when required. With you and
yours, my lord, I will settle later."
With a show of exaggerated humility, which was worse than knife-stabs,
and a glare at Nara, the despot departed as he came, leaving in his
wake, as he scrunched away, a trail of terror and discomfiture. The
sliding doors were closed in haste. For a while, the assembly remained
frozen, then the unhappy Mikado heaved a deep sigh, which was met by a
flutter of moaning. He was gone for the present, that was a small
mercy; but then he might return at any moment, abusive and vindictive
instead of caustic. The shuffling step and trembling hand. Oh, Nara,
Nara! Broken reed, false friend; vain, impotent wind-bag; purblind,
blustering dotard!
Gushing with torrents of weak tears, the Fountain relieved his pent-up
anguish with trickling reproaches and sobs, to which the old Daimio
listened gloomily. No doubt, he had been wrong in some measure, he
admitted with hesitation, for so rapid a recovery had never entered
into the complex web of his calculations. Perchance it was but the
bright temporary flicker of the expiring lamp. The Fountain of Honour
must not be too severe on his aged servant. Had he not kept his temper
under grievous provocation, blows would have been exchanged in the
holy presence, imperial prestige in the eyes of the whole court would
have been lowered.
"Rubbish! A paltry excuse! Why, as he stood there, did none of you rid
me of him?" groaned the Fountain, whereupon the abject circle groaned
in echo.
"Of a truth, some one should have done it," bleated one; but surprise,
after what they had heard, unnerved each arm; and, indeed, the Hojo
was a terrible person, an ogre to terrify the doughtiest.
"Bluster and cowardice are sisters!" continued the lamenting Mikado.
He could never trust any of them any more--never, never--the cravens!
His chains, heavy and numbing, were riveted with adamantine links! and
so forth--with a chorus of bleating.
When you know that you have done your best,--that but for some one
unforeseen and ineradicable speck your carefully-wrought blade would
be faultless, a shimmering masterpiece--it is vastly vexatious for
people whom you despise, although they wear the aureole, to go on
ungenerously drivelling anent that one undeniable blemish. Nara, as he
said, had endured a great deal at the hard hand of Hojo, but to sit
calmly any longer under the futile reproaches of the Holy One was
beyond his stock of that patience he was so fond of recommending to
others.
Moreover, is not the putting aside of what is past and unpleasant a
principle approved of by sages? What is done is done. Even after the
late scene, wherein a brutal keeper disported himself among his
animals, and departed triumphing, all was not lost, The Fountain
had been compelled to imbibe another sip of a nauseous draught with
which he was so familiar, that surely it did not signify, at any
rate, it should be the last His faithful Nara promised it. How the
never-sufficiently-to-be-accursed Hojo had ever discovered the
approaching advent of cohorts was a puzzle. But the cohorts were near
by this time, and they must even make an open stand against the
tyrant, since the scheme of treachery had failed. He, the domineering
Hojo, would write angry and imperious letters to the approaching
daimios, bidding them begone; but in the name of the Holy One letters
could also be sent--secretly, of course--exhorting them to ride all
the quicker, since the situation had become acute.
"I will gird my old sword again, despite my many winters," Nara
concluded pompously. "Dost think that because my hair is white my
heart is frozen? Under the snows of Shirane-San and Asama-Yama
smoulder the hidden fires. This man's father has immured three
Emperors, and he himself is preparing to depose a fourth. He has
insulted me, and broken my daughter's heart. A little craft--a very
little more--and the crest of the despot is laid low."
The hapless Mikado suffocated. Tears of impotent wrath welled from his
august eyelids. Cowardice and bluster to the end, and broken reeds to
lean on, while he drained the nauseous cup! Verily the banished
Emperors were to be envied. The young man rose, and retired to his
inner chamber, and lay prone with moans in darkness.